


Lion Heart, Dragon Fire

by backinyourbox, sj_daubigne



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, M/M, POV Alternating, Role Play Style, Romance, Seamless threading
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:08:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 122,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21728050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/backinyourbox/pseuds/backinyourbox, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sj_daubigne/pseuds/sj_daubigne
Summary: After being abducted by anarchists, the last thing Draco expected was to be rescued by junior Auror Neville Longbottom. Neither could he have imagined that event leading into something that might be called a friendship. That all would have been fine, except that now, Draco has feelings, feelings that are difficult to hide and that he can never expect Neville to return. On the other hand, nothing seems to be going the way that he expected lately.
Relationships: Neville Longbottom/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 47
Kudos: 145





	1. The Raid

**Author's Note:**

> This story alternates POV because it is written role-play style, with each of us co-creating the story as we go along. We have now been writing for over a year, and decided to share the story we've been working on all this time. We hope you enjoy it as much as we do.

**PART ONE: JUST FRIENDS**

When the three youngest Aurors in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement were told that their role in the raid was to cover some of the _least_ likely exits, rather than being included in the assault on the house itself, Ron was furious. “We’ve been doing this over a year,” he muttered under his breath once their group leader, Auror Williamson, had moved out of earshot. “And they still treat us like little kids who can’t handle ourselves.” 

Harry also looked disappointed, a pinch to his cheek where he was gritting his teeth, but he didn’t say anything.

Neville, on the other hand, was quite contented not to be at the front of the pack, or in the thick of the action. He understood the need for a rearguard, and the value that the older and better-trained Aurors placed in experience. Of course, it was arguable that Harry and Ron, and even to some extent Neville himself, had experienced certain things that even the oldest Aurors who had been brought out of retirement to shore up numbers had never seen, but that was besides the point. Neville hadn’t become an Auror for glory or thrills or danger. He had said yes when asked, because it was an important, necessary job that needed doing, and he had never intended to be doing it this long. 

“Buck up,” he told Ron, marshalling all his patience. He couldn’t blame his friend for a little bloodthirstiness, after all he’d been through, but sometimes it _did_ seem like he was doing his best to get himself killed. “Maybe some of the bad guys’ll get out, and you’ll get a shot at them.” 

Ron shrugged and muttered unintelligibly to himself.

When night fell, they took their positions. The house was on a remote stretch of farmland, double storey, with lights visible in some of the upstairs windows. Which was suspicious in itself, because the land itself had obviously not been farmed in years; grasses and weeds had taken over the fields, and the only animals to be seen were wild. As Neville signalled a silent goodbye to the others, they saw a deer bounding away into the distant trees. 

He measured one hundred paces away from Ron, found a large enough bush to hide behind, and settled himself to wait. This part he didn’t much care for, the waiting. Not knowing if his teammates and the rest of their people were safe. He took a breath and steadied himself. The raid wouldn’t begin until after midnight; there was at least an hour to go. The darkness deepened. With no city lights to hide them the stars were as bright as they were in the sky over Hogwarts, but other than the dim glow of the windows from the house, they were the only light with which to see. Neville pulled his cloak tight around his shoulders and turned his wand over in his hand. 

It was inconceivable to him that there would still be people sympathetic to Voldemort’s cause, a year after he had died. And yet it seemed that every month there was another group of them, people who had not been among the Dark Lord’s most intimate followers, for the most part, but who would perhaps have liked to be, who agreed with the oppression of Muggles and Muggleborn wizards and were trying to regain the power they had had, albeit very briefly, before his death. Some were more of a threat than others - some little more than kids with delusions of grandeur, but others, like this lot, were a lot more concerning. There was evidence that they had access to some dangerous artefacts which had been released from the Ministry’s protection during Thicknesse’s administration, all of which were deadly. And Ron wanted to run head on into that.

 _No thanks_ , Neville thought. 

Just before midnight, he got up to stretch his legs and to make sure his assigned area was clear. As he looked out into the distance in the opposite direction from the house, he saw a dark shape which seemed incongruous with the natural landscape. Another house? It looked too small. Some kind of outhouse, perhaps, or a barn. Nothing like that had been included on the maps they’d been given. 

Neville bit his lip. The raid was due to start any minute, and he really oughtn’t be leaving his post; on the other hand he’d never hear the end of it if someone or something came at them from behind, out of his quadrant. “Bugger,” he muttered. Ron was - by design - out of earshot, and so was Auror Hastings, on his other side. If he spent the time to go to speak to either of them it might be too late. Making a quick decision, and hoping it wasn’t a huge mistake, he hurried off towards the dark lump on the horizon. 

It was indeed a small barn, as became clear when he drew nearer. It looked run-down and battered by the elements, the roof practically falling in, but it was still well within the protective wards which had prevented the Aurors from Apparating directly into the enemy’s laps. Why include it? “Bugger bugger,” he sighed, and got a better grip on his wand. 

The door was locked, but a quick spell made easy work of it, and he ducked through the entrance into the blackness within, heart pounding. It was quiet. Too quiet, he thought after a moment, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. He held up his wand and turned his face away so as not to accidentally blind himself. “ _Lumos_.” 

* * *

Draco wasn't sure exactly how long he'd been stuck, other than far longer than he would have liked. Of course, in an ideal world, he never would have been in this situation to begin with - but it wasn't as though he would have been able to predict that what should have been a routine sale would end up with him trapped in a grimy barn, without his wand or anyway of getting outside assistance. 

He'd taken the job at Borgin & Burke's after Hogwarts because it had seemed like the best way to both get out of the house on a regular basis, and an interesting pastime to put his skills to use. His father had hated it - which was, admittedly, part of the appeal - but Draco had been insistent, and his mother had supported him, so at the end of the day, all Lucius could do was mutter his displeasure under his breath, which Draco had slowly become immune to over the years.  
  
So when a customer had come in with interest in a cursed locket, Draco had done his job, trying to sell the object at the highest possible price. And he was good at his job, charming and well-spoken in the right ways. It meant his commissions were always good, and more than once he'd managed to persuade individuals to buy more than just what they'd originally intended to purchase. There were even a few repeat customers who would only deal with him, which always made Draco a little more smug than usual. But this customer had only been interested in the one thing, and very adamantly so - perhaps the trickiest negotiation he'd had to go through in the year he'd been working at the shop. He'd been pretty relieved once it was over - and he certainly hadn't been expecting to get Side-Along-Apparated to a house in the middle of nowhere when he'd gone to shake the man's hand to conclude the sale.  
  
It had become abundantly clear that the customer - who had never given a name, which wasn't that unusual for Borgin & Burke's clients - was more concerned with Draco himself than the locket in question, still sitting on display back in the shop. Somehow, the man and his associates had learnt of Draco's involvement with the Death Eaters’ invasion of Hogwarts in his sixth year, the way he'd managed to fix the Vanishing Cabinets and their associated use by the Death Eaters. They'd wanted him to do something similar, creating an undetectable method of sneaking into the Ministry, so that they could carry out whatever nefarious plans they had in their ridiculous heads.  
  
Draco had refused on principal. He'd seen first hand what kind of terror these types of people thrived on, and he no longer had any interest in being a part of that. And besides, he'd explained - or tried to - that he couldn't create the connection from nothing, all he had done was repair a broken one that had already been established. The group hadn't seemed to care, and had thrown him into this awful barn, with what he assumed were daily visits to try and convince him to change his mind, and to ensure he continued to live until he agreed to do their bidding. Which most definitely _wasn’t_ going to happen. He'd survived the Dark Lord living in his damn house for almost a year, had been raised by one of his lieutenants. Draco wasn't going to be intimidated by these paltry imitations of the real thing. Even if they did resort to fists and physical violence when spells weren't enough, which was a brand new experience, other than occasionally getting backhanded across the face by his father.  
  
So here he was, trapped in a filthy place with his hands chained to the wall behind him, and no hope of escaping. Not that that stopped Draco from trying - his wrists were bloody from trying to pull them free from the cuffs, and he’d been steadily trying to pry the chains themselves out from the wooden wall they were attached to. As soon as he got out of here - and he was determined to get out - Draco was going to take the longest shower in the history of mankind to get rid of the grime and the stench that felt soaked into his skin and hair by this point. The clothes were a lost cause, and would be going straight into the first fireplace he could find. 

He looked up at the door when he heard it creak open, leaning away from the wall he’d been chipping away at. His eyes had gotten accustomed to being kept in the dark, but even with that, he couldn’t see more than a vague outline of a person in the door. Draco shut his eyes at the sound of that spell - the voice was vaguely familiar, and not just because it wasn’t one of the ones he’d gotten used to hearing while here - but he wasn’t quite quick enough to fully avoid the flare of light, and a small groan rumbled up through his chest at the burn to his eyes.

The sound made Neville’s heart drop out of his stomach. He forced his eyes open and swept his wand down and around to point towards the noise. 

What he saw made him rush forward, and he was down on one knee beside the slumped figure before he recognised, with a shock that almost had him leaping back again, that pointed, aristocratic nose, and that white-blond hair, though he had never seen it dirty, or even untidy before now. “ _Malfoy?”_ he breathed, biting back an exclamation that would have made his Grandmother box his ears, and raised his wand again, to make sure he wasn’t somehow mistaken. “What are _you_ doing here?”

Blinking his eyes open at the sound of his name, Draco squinted at the person in front of him. Of all the people he thought he might come face-to-face with, _Longbottom_ certainly wasn’t one of them (but at least it wasn’t Weasley. Or Potter. Potter would be worse). Perhaps he was hallucinating, but he hadn’t had anything to eat or drink in a few hours, so that seemed unlikely, especially since no one had come close enough to cast a spell that might cause this either.

“Taking a holiday,” Draco retorted sarcastically. “It seemed like a wonderful place to go sightseeing. What the bloody hell does it look like, Longbottom?” Then, belatedly, he realized that if this wasn’t a figment of his imagination, insulting someone who might be able to help him get out of this situation was probably not a great idea. Draco took a deep breath, and with ill grace said more levelly, “I have no idea how long I have been stuck here, so I would appreciate getting out, if that’s possible.” He had to fight the urge to grind his teeth against the bitterness of asking a Gryffindor for help, but at this point, surviving was more important than his dignity - the war had taught him that lesson very thoroughly indeed.

Neville hesitated. Later he would feel a bit ashamed, but in his defense he had spent seven years being spat on and tormented by Draco Malfoy, and as far as he was concerned the fact that he was tied up at that moment wasn’t that much of an incentive to trust him. If it was almost anyone else, he knew, he would have been trying to release them already. But that familiar sneer on Malfoy’s grubby and bruised face, the way he said _Longbottom_ like he was wiping something disgusting off the sole of his shoe, rather made Neville want to walk out and leave him, and serve him bloody right. 

But he couldn’t. No matter what side Malfoy was on or had been on, Neville _was_ an Auror, and any minute now all hell was about to break loose. If he left him here and the fields went up in flames, Malfoy was toast. And as appealing an idea as that was to imagine, Neville was not that sort of man. At least, he liked to think he wasn’t. 

_What do I do with him?_ he wondered in that split second of hesitation. Just because his former childhood enemy was clearly on the bad side of the sympathisers didn’t make him _innocent._ With relief however, he realised that it wasn’t his problem - all he had to do was get Malfoy back to the Ministry, where someone else would have the unenviable task of figuring out what he was up to. 

“Hold still,” he said finally, with audible reluctance, and leaned over Malfoy’s shoulder to get to the chains, holding the wandlight close so that he could see what he was doing. He winced when he saw the damage done to those pale, delicate wrists; Malfoy’s hands were bloody and his fingernails, usually so clean and perfect, were ragged and black. The place in the wall where the chains were bolted was scratched and pitted and the floor was littered with splinters, the severity of the damage carefully hidden by Malfoy’s body against his captors. “You’ve done a real number on these,” he muttered, more to fill the awkward silence than anything else. He didn’t think he’d ever been this close to Malfoy before, at least not willingly. He stank, but that was hardly his fault, so Neville refrained from mentioning it while trying not to breathe through his nose. “I think you almost had it,” he added, unable to resist a touch of sarcasm, as he used his wand to flick open the manacles. 

Beyond getting free of his bonds, Draco hadn't even begun to think of a plan for what he was going to do once he did. And now that it was so close to being a reality, he realized he still had no idea what he was going to do once the chains were no longer wrapped around his wrists. He was momentarily distracted by the sensation of Longbottom's body next to his own, and he shuddered lightly at the warmth he could feel radiating off him. His captors had been very careful not to get too close to him unless they were hitting him, and he chalked up his reaction as just a lack of contact for however long it had been since he'd been locked up.

He bit his tongue - literally as well as figuratively - to refrain from making a sarcastic comment about how he obviously wasn't going anywhere. It wouldn't help anything, even if voicing it might make him feel momentarily better, but then Longbottom might refuse to help him, and more than anything, Draco just wanted to get out of here. He had no way of knowing how much progress he might have made on the chains, but even when he was exhausted and starving and disgustingly gross, he could recognize sarcasm, and he couldn't quite hold back a snort of amusement at hearing it from Longbottom, of all people. Maybe he was more delirious than he'd thought, if he was finding anything about this entertaining.

“Thanks,” he said in response, carefully keeping his tone neutral. He breathed out a sigh of relief as the metal fell away from his wrists, but he couldn't stop himself from groaning in pain as he tried to bring his arms forward - they'd been locked in that awkward position so long that anything else was uncomfortable as well. 

“Careful,” Neville said quickly, shifting to concern before he could register quite what he was doing. “Take it slow.” He watched as Malfoy painstakingly bent his arms back the right way; Neville couldn’t help but feel some real sympathy at the agonised look on his face. _Sympathy for Malfoy_ , he thought. _I’ll laugh about that later._ For the moment though, he stayed focused on the task at hand. “That looks bad,” he said aloud, holding the wand light close to Malfoy’s bloody wrists. He supposed he could heal the superficial wounds with a basic healing spell, but there was no telling how many tiny bits of wood and dirt and other things were sitting under the skin; if he closed them there would almost certainly be an infection that was beyond his rudimentary skill to heal. “Better get you to a Healer,” he said instead, this time with no trace of sarcasm. “Can you walk, do you think?” 

Draco barely heard Longbottom’s words, too focused on trying to force his body to cooperate with him without total agony at the same time. It was something of a losing battle, and by the time he had his arms in front of him he was breathing raggedly, his ability to focus pretty much gone. From the light of the other wizard’s wand - distantly, he realized he wasn’t sure where his own wand was... maybe still at the shop? He couldn’t remember if he’d had it on him when he’d been so rudely and abruptly abducted - he could see some of the damage at his fingertips and wrists, and Draco felt his stomach churn just a little as he came face-to-face with what he’d been doing to himself in his futile bid for freedom. 

The mention of a Healer was not a bad idea, and he found himself nodding in agreement without really thinking about it. As for walking… “Only one way to find out,” Draco replied, moving to push himself to his feet without actually using his ruined hands in any way. 

Neville was loathe to insert himself where he knew he was almost definitely not wanted, but when Malfoy got halfway up and then swayed alarmingly, he found himself grabbing the back of the filthy robes and taking some of the Slytherin’s weight until he was upright. Neville sighed to himself. There was no way Malfoy would get past the apparition wards on his own feet, not in this state. He made a decision - he put out his wand’s light, thrust it into his belt sheath, and, grimacing a little at the smell, put one arm gingerly around Malfoy’s waist. He was cold, which actually worried Neville more than all the blood. “It’s not far to the other side of the wards,” he said, trying to sound encouraging. He was painfully aware that his section of the perimeter was now dangerously unguarded, but it would have to do; they were always told in the Aurors that human lives were always more important than the outcome of any mission. Even if, he thought to himself with some frustration, that life happened to be Draco Malfoy’s. “We just have to get there, and then I can Apparate you out of here. Okay?” 

Before Malfoy could answer, however, there was an explosion so loud that it felt like it was directly over their heads. The ground shook with the force of it, and Neville had to take nearly all of Malfoy’s weight to stop him from falling while the wooden beams overhead creaked alarmly, ancient dust floating down onto their heads. 

Draco had opened his mouth to give some sort of retort - probably one that wasn’t well thought through - about how getting there was going to be the problem, given that he was as stable as a newborn centaur, which was to say, not really all at just yet. The sudden noise startled him so completely that he lost track of that thought process entirely, and he glanced up as if he’d be able to determine the cause of it that way before realizing that it didn’t matter in the least. “Aaand that’s our cue to go,” Longbottom said, sounding strained, once they were mostly steady again. “C’mon, before we both blow up.” 

“That would be an awful end to an already terrible experience,” Draco agreed absentmindedly, concentrating more on forcing one foot in front of the other. It felt as though he was moving through molasses, far slower than he should be, which was probably to be expected, given the circumstances, but still rather bruising to his pride. Or what was left of it, at least.

Eventually though, they managed to reach the door, and Draco inhaled his first breath of really fresh air since he’d been captured. That alone was a relief like none other - but it was soured a bit by another explosion above them, and the frame of the building shaking violently as they walked out of it. 

Neville only hoped that his prediction was exaggerated; at this rate they really would both be killed in what he also _really_ hoped was friendly fire. He hadn’t expected the effects of the raid to reach this far out. He could only assume that whatever dark objects were being destroyed were extremely powerful. He tightened his grip around Malfoy’s waist and hurried them through the door before the whole place could come down around them.

Each step seemed to take a lifetime. Neville did his best to move at Malfoy’s best pace, but he couldn’t help tugging him along here and there when he started to feel the heat from the fires behind them prickling the back of his neck. He knew without turning around that if he were to look, he would no longer see the house. Even something in good repair wouldn’t have been able to withstand a blast like that, and given the state of the barn… 

Fortunately they were far enough away that the smoke in the air wasn’t debilitating, only made it harder to see in the dark as they staggered towards the treeline. Neville could hear shouts distantly from behind them and the occasional scream; he forced his fears to the back of his mind and focused on their destination, almost lifting Malfoy entirely off his feet in places where the terrain was particularly difficult. Fortunately he had at some point outgrown Malfoy by several inches - when had that happened? - and Malfoy had never been heavy even before he’d been half starved. “How’re you doing?” he asked, when they both had to stop to catch their breath. He had to raise his voice to be heard over the noise of the battle. “Still with me?” 

Between the smoke and the noises and the wavering light from the fire along with his own issues at hand presently, Draco would have have had a hard time figuring out which way he was going on his own. As it was, he was pretty sure that Longbottom was the only reason he was going to survive this night - which might grate a little in the light of day, but for the time being he could only be grateful that _someone_ had found him and gotten him out before he burned to death trapped in that barn. 

“Where…” _else would I be?_ was what Draco had been planning to say, except that he was interrupted by a fit of coughing, probably from the smoke. His focus was completely gone, and his vision had tunneled to the point that he could only see about a three foot radius directly in front of him. The coughs had him bent over, and he could feel the way gravity was trying to drag him back to the ground fully. It was almost tempting, to just lay down and rest for a while - but if he laid down, there was no guarantee that he’d ever get back up again, and that was just an unacceptable outcome. 

“Where’s the ward?” he asked, hating the way he could hear himself wheezing as he spoke. 

“It’s just over -” 

Neville was interrupted suddenly by a shout and a red beam of light that shot so close overhead that he could smell his own hair burning. He dropped to the ground, taking Malfoy with him, and disentangled himself just enough to look back; two wizards, one slightly in front, were running towards them through the smoke. Neville guessed from the curse, which almost certainly would have been fatal if it had hit, that they were _not_ Aurors. He glanced back up to see how far they had to go to the ward line, ignoring Malfoy’s pained groans. It would only take perhaps two minutes to run the distance, he judged. But Malfoy couldn’t run, and they didn’t have two minutes. 

Heart pounding, he drew his wand again and brought it around in a blinding arc of light. The resulting screams were satisfying, but it wouldn’t hold their pursuers back for long. 

Draco blinked his eyes open just in time to see Longbottom cast… something, he was certain he knew the name of it when his brain wasn’t imitating swamp water. There was no time to really consider that though, not when the other wizard was already dragging him back up again. He bit back a groan of protest.

Neville was going for speed over care; there was no more time for gentleness, and Malfoy would have to hold his own weight from now on. “Head for the trees,” he shouted. “Look, you see them?” He pointed, making sure Malfoy could follow the direction of his arm. “That way, until you hit the treeline, then you’re behind the wards. If I’m not right behind you then hide and wait for someone in an Auror’s robe to show up. Go, go now!” 

The shouting had Draco wincing, but he looked at where Longbottom was gesturing to, and nodded his understanding - or tried to. The motion brought on a wave of nauseousness that was new, and he forced it down as he tried to take a step forward. Draco was certain he hadn’t moved in such an undignified manner since he was cognizant of how he was walking, but there was nothing for it, at this point. His gait was lumbering and uneven, and more than once he almost tripped to fall face-first into the dirt once again.

Sheer determination brought him probably halfway to the trees before he started to shake so badly that he doubted his ability to take another step. Even knowing it wasn’t his best idea, Draco glanced over his shoulder to see if Longbottom was behind him the way he was supposed to be.

Neville meanwhile had turned to face their pursuers, his mind and body shifting instinctively into a defensive combat stance. He had come a long way since the Battle of Hogwarts after a year of weekly, sometimes daily training, but that didn’t make him feel less like throwing up every time he had to fight. Particularly when he was outnumbered by dangerous anarchists. Fortunately, while he was physically tired from carrying Malfoy, he hadn’t used any magic all day, and he was ready. 

Red light came flying at him out of the dark. “Protego!” he yelled, with a wand movement so high and wide that the shield charm covered him for several feet in every direction. He felt the impact of the curses, but they skidded off his shield to either side, shooting off harmlessly into the sky. He saw a moment of hesitation and took full advantage; his first spell hit the man in front in the shoulder, freezing his wand arm. The man howled and switched hands, but Neville was already moving, ducking the next curse and sending his own in the direction of the other man. He resisted the urge to move forward, stepping back instead in a steady retreat towards the edge of the farm. 

It was too dark and grey with smoke to see if he knew them, but they were not much perturbed by Neville’s defenses. If anything they sped up, calling to each other words of encouragement. Neville risked a look back; Malfoy was at least putting one foot in front of the other, but he was unarmed and helpless in the open, and without a wand he wouldn’t be able to Apparate out, either. _They can’t get past me_ , he told himself firmly as he turned back, hastily throwing up another shield charm as a beam of orange light was aimed past him in Malfoy’s direction. They were running, and he was stepping slowly backwards, so it was only a matter of time before they were on him. He expected them to stop far enough away for effective wand movement, but instead they leapt towards him, trying to take him down with the combined weight of their bodies. It caught him by surprise and he found himself dragged roughly to the ground in a heap of flailing limbs. Fortunately his arms were still working; he ducked a blow from the second man and aimed a punch at his stomach, making him double over. The first was still struggling to regain the feeling in his wand arm, and his left was clearly not as effective for throwing punches; Neville avoided it easily and scrambled out of range long enough to raise his wand. “Stupify!” 

The man crumpled to the ground, but the second recovered quicker than Neville had been expecting, and something hot and bright flashed in his eyes, a sharp pain in his thigh. There was no time nor space for another shield charm; instead he lashed out wildly with both fists until one connected with a thud of bone on flesh. Something fell, but he couldn’t see to know if he had actually downed the man. He scrambled up, turned and ran, stumbling over the ground as his vision blurred and popped with little bursts of colour. His leg ached, but somehow it still worked, and after a few lung-burning seconds he practically ran into Malfoy, who seemed to have stopped. Neville could have strangled him. “COME ON!” he yelled, and grabbed him, dragging him forcibly the rest of the distance towards the edge of the wards. Impossible to tell without trying, of course, but he had studied the map, and he was almost certain that it was safe to Apparate. Just a few more steps to be really sure, he thought, his breathing gone ragged and painful as his leg threatened to buckle under him. 

Draco had felt more than seen the curse as it flew past him, but it was a good enough motivation to try and keep moving as best he could. After all, given that his captors’ plans seemed to be effectively ruined anyhow, he was probably acceptable collateral damage. Or perhaps they just didn’t want him sharing what they’d wanted him to do for them, in the event that any of them escaped to try again later. Either way, it seemed like the best course of action was to continue moving.

But seeing Longbottom get tackled to the ground had him frozen for a moment, mostly in disbelief. Given the apparent ease with which he’d gotten Draco out, it seemed ridiculous for him to be taken down so easily - especially since he could remember the Final Battle and Longbottom’s role in it very clearly, though he’d never admit to it. So yeah, he stopped to watch, and he refused to admit even to himself that it was to ensure that the man stood up again. 

He did not breathe out a sigh of relief when Longbottom pushed himself back up, but he did frown as he noticed the limp in his walk. And then suddenly he was right there, screaming at Draco - oh, right, he was meant to be moving away from the impending danger. _I must really be out of it_ , he thought dazily, letting Longbottom drag him along further; he did his best to meet the man’s pace, but it was getting more difficult to think with every step. 

“Okay,” Neville gasped, once they were truly among the wild trees growing along the west side of the farm, and he was sure they were beyond the wards. There was blood running down the inside of his leg, dripping into his boot, and he could feel Malfoy starting to go limp, maybe losing consciousness; it was hard to hold him up and get a good grip on his wand. “Stay with me,” he muttered, giving Malfoy a little shake. “C’mon, just stay with me one more minute. Almost there.” 

He managed to take all of Malfoy’s weight with one arm, grunting with the effort and the pain in his leg under the added pressure, and raised his wand once more. All he had to do was - .

A bolt of bright yellow light came from beyond the trees, out of the smoky orange glow that was the farmhouse burning. Draco saw the curse coming directly for him, and though time seemed to slow down considerably, he still knew there was no way he’d be able to dodge it in time, not with as sluggishly slow as his body was moving. Neville saw it too, in the split second before it hit - _no time no time no TIME -_

Draco felt Longbottom moving in an awkward way, twisting his arm around in one desperate move as though using his body as a shield. The curse that had been headed directly for Draco’s chest hit the Gryffindor instead in the back, right under his shoulder, with a force like an oncoming train. Still tangled together, both of them were blown back into the wide trunk of a nearby tree, and went sprawling.

Draco groaned in pain again, blinking up at the canopy of the trees for a moment. Turning his head to look at his rescuer, he froze when he saw the other wasn’t moving, his wand rolled away out of his limp hand. “ _Longbo_ ...” Draco started, and was interrupted by a fit of coughing from the smoke. Reaching out with one shaking hand, he tried to rouse the other wizard, but it seemed a futile effort. The sound of another scream cut through the forest, bringing back the full weight of their circumstances. At least they were both still breathing - everything else could be fixed. Or at least, so he hoped.  
  
For a moment or two, his mind cleared completely, the haze of pain and hunger dissipating to allow him to think through a plan for the next few moments. Not wanting to waste any more time, Draco didn’t bother second-guessing himself, and reached out to scramble in the undergrowth for Longbottom’s wand, grabbing it in his own hand. His fingers curled around the wood tightly, and he used his other hand to take a firm hold of the other wizard’s wrist. It took a monumental amount of effort to actually complete an Apparation, and Draco had half a thought that he hoped he hadn’t splinched either of them as the magic took hold.  
  
Gasping as the spell ended, he pushed himself up as much as possible. Draco sighed in relief when he saw that he’d managed to transport himself and Longbottom to the flat he’d gotten for himself just a few days before his abduction. He hadn’t even moved in yet, had still been working on breaking that news to his parents when he’d been so rudely snatched away from his life. The place had come somewhat furnished, and by some small miracle, Draco had managed to land them both on the bed. He fell back to the sheets with a groan, and then instantly passed out, the last remnants of his energy evaporating. 

* * *

  
  
Some indeterminable amount of time later, Draco woke up slowly. It took him longer than it should have to blink his eyes open and make an assessment of the current situation. The first thing he saw when he finally opened his eyes the entire way was Longbottom, sacked out and bloody on the bed next to him, and he was incredibly confused for a few long moments before the memories came back to him. Sitting up slowly, he glanced over the other wizard for a few long moments and then hissed in pain as one of his wrists rubbed against the sheets. 

Right. So, it was time for a plan. Draco pushed himself up out of bed as he considered all the things that should probably be taken care of - but first, a Healer. Thankfully, there was one that his family had used for many years, and his discretion was unparalleled. Then he could take a shower and eat something and figure out what he was going to say to both Longbottom when he woke, and to everyone else. 

He had Floo powder, which he used to make the necessary call, and then used Longbottom’s wand to do a quick cleaning spell to at least get most of the dirt and leaves off them and their clothes and the bed. The sheets were red and brown, and Draco wanted to burn them already from how filthy they were and the reminder of what he’d been held in. 

Healer Finley was quick to arrive and take care of Draco’s wrists and face, as well as the damage to Longbottom’s leg and shoulder from the curses he’d gotten hit with. He warned Draco that while there didn’t seem to be any lingering side effects, one could never be too careful, so it would be best to keep an eye out. 

Once all of that was taken care of, Draco dragged himself into the bathroom for a shower. He stood under the hot spray for longer than he probably ever had in his life, ensuring that all of the dirt and grime and grossness was washed away before finally climbing out. There was a bare minimum of food in the kitchen, but it was enough to tide him over for a bit longer, so Draco scarfed some down before making tea, which he carried with him back to the bedroom to… keep an eye on his company. He wasn’t just watching Longbottom sleep, because that would be weird and creepy and Draco prided himself on being neither of those things. 

* * *

Neville woke slowly like he was fighting his way out of a sleeping bag full of cotton wool. As his level of consciousness grew, he took stock of his situation. He was alive, so that was a good thing. He could tell he’d been magically Healed - once you’d had someone else’s magic running through your blood enough times, you started to get a feel for it. Unfortunately you also started to build up a pesky kind of resistance, so that although the physical wounds might be healed, the aches and pains remained. It was kind of like the way being Stunned wasn’t nearly as restful as sleeping, and a cleaning charm wasn’t as thorough as having actually washed. 

He had assumed at first that he was in St Mungo’s, but as he shifted closer to real wakefulness he realised that was wrong; there were none of the usual sounds he associated with the hospital - the chatter of Healers, the complaints of patients, footsteps in the hall, various magical devices giving off coded tones, and occasionally the wail of a recently generated ghost. It was quiet. Far too quiet. 

His eyes snapped open and he tried to sit up, though the giant ache that was his head rather dissuaded him from going all the way through with it. He vaguely remembered being catapulted into a tree. He felt a brief rush of panic as he looked around through eyes still blurry with sleep, trying to figure out where he was, and then he saw Malfoy sitting casually by the window. It didn’t make him feel much better, except to make sense of some of the gaps he’d been trying subconsciously to fill. On the contrary, waking up to _Malfoy_ was a nightmare he had never known he had to fear. He reached for his wand - it was not in its sheath. “What-” he demanded, still struggling to lift himself onto his elbow, at least, “where’m’I?” 

Draco had been considering various next steps when he noticed the small movements from the man on the bed that indicated Longbottom was probably going to be waking up soon. Admittedly, this was not how Draco had envisioned the first time of having someone else in that bed with him, but he supposed that, circumstances being what they were, it could have been a lot worse.  
  
Pushing the tea tray a little closer as Longbottom got closer to full consciousness, Draco intentionally kept his eyes focused out the window. The building was in Diagon Alley, technically, but near the end that met Knockturn, so there was always an interesting conglomerate of people outside when he looked out to watch. He wasn’t certain if that would be happening more or less frequently now, if he’d be spending more time back at the Manor following this whole ordeal - but he was drawn out of those thoughts by Longbottom speaking. Belatedly, he realized he hadn’t really gotten dressed after his shower, and plaid pajama pants with an undershirt were not exactly appropriate attire for having a guest - but there was nothing he could really do about that now.  
  
“Your wand’s on the other end table,” Draco offered first. He’d seen that motion, and he was well aware of the feeling of vulnerability of not having a wand nearby or in hand - hell, he was still feeling it now, and every survival instinct he had was screaming about being unarmed in the presence of someone dangerous. But he figured maybe Longbottom would take it as a show of... what, trust? Was that really what he was trying to accomplish here? Dismissing the thought as unimportant for the time being - he’d come back to it later - he refocused on the conversation at hand.  
  
“This is technically my flat,” he continued as more of an actual answer to the question. “It seemed crass to leave you alone in a forest to possibly get killed after you made sure _I_ didn’t die,” Draco added with a shrug, like that didn’t go against everything he’d projected as part of his self-serving image for years now.

Neville glanced as quickly as he dared towards the side table. It certainly looked like his wand, and he’d pick it up to check… any minute now, as soon as his head stopped spinning. _Malfoy’s flat. Why does Malfoy have a flat? Oh, hell._

Looking down at himself, he realised with some confusion and a little panic that someone had removed his robes; he was left in his vest, undershorts and boots. While his skin was clean - the sticky, magic kind of clean, not really clean - the top of one of his boots was crusted brown with dried blood, and there were stains on the sheet under him that he doubted even magic would be able to get out. He must have been hurt worse than he thought. Gingerly he lifted the arm on the side that had been hit by the last curse. His shoulderblade was sore, but perfectly functional, and he no longer seemed to be bleeding from anywhere. He looked up at Malfoy in fresh surprise, only now noticing that he, too, was in a state of undress such as Neville had never seen him before; the situation was so bizarre that he wondered if he hadn’t somehow been killed after all, and this was his brain trying to convince him otherwise. “Did you…?” he started, suspicious and still battling his own crippling disorientation. 

It took him a moment to figure out what was being asked. Draco raised one hand to run his fingers through his hair as he responded, “No, that was the Healer.” He hoped that the faint flush he could feel on his ears wasn’t obvious. He might have snuck a few looks - he was injured, not _dead_ \- but he’d never admit to it, especially not when he realized exactly how good Longbottom looked under his shapeless robes. Even those last few years at school, he’d started to grow into himself once he’d passed the awkward stages - which was also something Draco would never admit to having noticed back then.  
  
Pushing all those thoughts away, he turned more fully towards the bed where Longbottom was. Draco was trying to ignore the white bandages wrapped around his wrists, since that inevitably lead to thinking about how he’d gotten injured in the first place. He’d just escaped that nightmare, he certainly wasn’t keen to revisit it within his mind. 

His eyes were drawn back to the other wizard once more, and before he had time to consider the words, Draco found himself asking, “How did you find me?”

Neville blinked, trying to force his brain to catch up with his eyes and ears. _Note to self: next time don’t get knocked on the head._ He managed to struggle into a sitting position. “By accident,” he muttered, gingerly testing his arms, his hands, and wriggling his toes, making sure that everything was normal - or as normal as could be expected. “I was meant to be watching the hideout, but there was a mysterious, ominous-looking building right there, and I couldn’t leave well enough alone.” He grimaced as the big muscle in his leg spasmed when he poked at it. “We had no idea you were there, if that’s what you mean.” 

Draco’s fingers tightened around his tea mug, the weight of the other man’s response hitting him so hard it felt as though his breath should have been knocked from his chest. If Longbottom hadn’t stumbled across him, there was a very real possibility that he’d be dead right now instead of just feeling like death warmed over. “Well, for once I’m grateful for that foolish Gryffindor curiosity,” he said, lacking the sneer it should have. But Draco was still feeling a little flattened, and it seemed silly to be worried about appearances in the face of his good luck. 

Neville looked up suddenly, his brain finally catching up to the situation. “Wait, how long was I out?” They’d be looking for him, he realised, probably worried… 

Since he was still looking at Longbottom, Draco could see the look in the man’s eyes when that gaze raised. He was frozen for a moment, and then looked over to the clock in the corner. “Quarter to three. It was about twelve when I woke up,” Draco said. With a careful shrug, he commented, “I don’t know what time you showed up last night, but I can’t imagine it’s been more than a day.” He had tried to keep track of the days in the barn, but the sunlight streaming through the cracks in the beams had never been consistent. Neither had the visits from his captors, and Draco blinked to bring his concentration back to the present. “There’s Floo powder by the fireplace,” he offered with a small motion over his shoulder towards the living room. It only seemed polite to offer the man the quickest escape route - in his position, Draco wouldn’t have wanted to be stuck with him either. 

Neville looked out of the window, daylight streaming in, and swallowed. He’d been missing… nearly fifteen hours, maybe. He really hoped no one had told his Gran. He didn’t look forward to having to explain any of this. 

On the other hand he couldn’t just rush off, he reminded himself. Malfoy was still the victim of a serious crime, even if he had, whether accidentally or on purpose, abducted an Auror. Far aside from his duty of care, Neville could hardly walk into the Auror office in his underwear, covered in blood, with only half the answers. He took a breath. “What about you?” he asked, forcing the words out through a wall of fear and resentment built up over seven years. He took in the bandages around Draco’s wrists as he looked him up and down more carefully. “Are _you_ all right? How’d you get tied up in there, anyway?” 

It finally occurred to Draco to wonder if his parents had officially reported his disappearance. Lucius Malfoy was in ill-grace with the Ministry these days - within pretty much every circle, actually, which was why the old man stayed locked up in the Manor, mostly drunk and brooding in the dark. His mother was the public face of the family, doing charity work for the orphans of Pureblood families - some even the children of Death Eaters who were either dead or imprisoned. _Children shouldn’t be punished for their parent’s mistakes_ was one of her mottos, which Draco had embraced wholeheartedly in an attempt to distance himself from his father’s image. That mindset, and the volunteer work he sometimes put in with her association were the reason he had a tentatively-budding, not-entirely-hostile... armistice? Or perhaps more of a ceasefire, as it were, with Hermione Granger, of all people.

His mother's foundation had been built on the idea that the best way to prevent another Dark Lord preaching the supremacy of Purebloods was to introduce magical children to the Muggle world from a young age. She had joined forces with Granger early on, who had been petitioning to have Muggleborn witches and wizards start learning about the magical world before their eleventh birthday and being sent off the Hogwarts, particularly if they were already in at-risk situations. Draco had avoided her as much as he could at first, because he was self-aware enough to know that he'd been - at best - a bully as a child, and he wasn't about to force his presence on one of his victims if at all possible - hence the Floo powder offer to Longbottom. But they'd managed to break past that first initial awkwardness while 'chaperoning' a trip to London zoo, where Draco had been as entranced as the seven year olds. The apology he’d carefully planned and given her that day might have helped as well.

He blinked at the question, drawn out of his thoughts once more. He cleared his throat, his right hand going to wrap around the bandage on his left wrist without really thinking about it. "I was making a sale, and I shook the man's hand and wound up in that barn," Draco answered, shrugging as he continued. "They knocked me out immediately, and I have no idea how long I was there." That seemed to be all the pertinent information without actually giving anything away. To give his hands something to do, he reached out to where the teapot was still floating between them to pour himself another cup, nudging the other discreetly in Longbottom's direction.

Neville ignored the teacup. _What kind of sale?_ he wondered. “They seemed pretty keen on getting rid of you,” he pointed out, grunting as he swung his legs over the side of the bed, until he managed a sort of slumped upright sitting position. He felt like he’d been carrying something heavy for several hours. On a broomstick. In a head wind. He put pieces together in his mind, the two wizards who had chased them... the second one must have come after him once he started running, and tried to cast a fatal blow. Fortunately it hadn’t been the Killing Curse, or he would actually be dead. He decided he probably wasn’t, though; being dead almost certainly wouldn’t hurt this much. 

Draco watched out of the corner of his eye as Longbottom rearranged and then managed to sit up all the way. He shrugged in response to the observation, because he couldn’t argue with it even if he wasn’t entirely sure why it was true. 

Neville shot Malfoy a suspicious look. “Whatever you sold them, was it likely to make people vomit out their eyeballs or anything like that?” He wondered privately what would happen if he tried to arrest Malfoy. Would he run? Fight? He wasn’t being… well, very Malfoyish, now that he came to think about it. It occurred to him suddenly how strange it was that he was even here - sure, the hospital would have been more helpful, but he’d also been in situations where Apparating in a panic meant ending up a place you considered safe. It was far more surprising that Malfoy hadn’t just nicked his wand and left him to die in the woods. 

Mouthing _‘vomit out their eyeballs’_ to himself and then shuddering slightly at the thought it gave him, Draco shook his head both to clear out the mental visual and as a response to the question. “No, they didn’t even take the object,” he explained, looking away from the other man. It was easier to talk about this if he was staring out the window and didn’t have to see Longbottom’s reactions, or lack thereof.

“What’d they want you for?” the man asked next. 

“They wanted me to recreate the Vanishing Cabinets, except from scratch.” Shrugging again, he concluded, “And when I told them I wouldn’t even if it was possible, they hit me or cursed me again, just to come back and repeat the whole thing over again.”

Neville winced. _Serves you right_ , he thought, but he couldn't really mean it, even to himself. No one deserved to be tortured, and the state Draco had been in… bruised, bloody, so weak he could barely stand… he wouldn’t wish that on his worst enemy. Well, one of the Lestranges, maybe. Malfoy was an ass and a bully and a sycophant, but as far as Neville knew, he’d never actually killed anyone. And sitting there on the window seat in his pyjamas, he hardly resembled any kind of criminal mastermind. He looked like the nineteen year old he was, hurt and tired and a little lost.

He shook _that_ thought off before it could go any further. Sympathy for Malfoy was one thing, it was quite another to dwell on the fact that he was actually human. And had, Neville realised with a sick, confused feeling, just saved his life. On the other hand if Malfoy hadn’t been there in the first place Neville wouldn’t have _needed_ saving… that made his head hurt even more, so he tossed that thought aside as well.

The information about the Vanishing Cabinet was interesting, but he didn’t quite understand how it was important enough to kill to protect; on the other hand, again, it wasn’t his problem. “The office needs to hear about this,” he muttered aloud, mostly to himself as he tried to collate his confused thoughts into something resembling a plan of action. “And the one that tried to kill you… he was right behind us, I bet he got away. _Damnit_.” 

He bit his lip, furious with himself. His superiors were going to be furious. He’d had _one_ job, and he couldn’t even do that right. 

Tensing slightly at Longbottom’s mention of the Ministry - and the off-hand tone with which he’d said it - Draco interjected, “Well, you can consider that my official statement then.” He certainly wasn’t about to repeat that story to a complete stranger - bad enough that he’d had to explain to Longbottom, even though he didn’t really think the other wizard would use it against him. Since it didn’t seem as though his input was needed for whatever the Auror was muttering to himself about, Draco busied himself with his teacup again. Sugar and cream and stir, and he sipped at it absentmindedly as he looked out the window again. First things first, once Longbottom took his leave, he was going to have to just take the plunge and Floo to the Manor. At least there he could grab his spare wand, and get a better change of clothes, and the house-elves would feed him real food. 

Neville frowned at the back of Malfoy’s head. He knew that he ought to take him to the Ministry, make him tell Williamson and the others what had happened, let them decide if there was any blame to be laid at his door, or if he knew perhaps more than he was letting on. But doing so under the circumstances seemed unnecessarily cruel, even if he had had the energy to physically drag Malfoy down there, which he didn’t. 

“Look,” he said finally, awkwardness edging his voice. “I won’t force you to make a report, but I can’t promise they won’t come looking for one, once I tell them about all this. _You_ can shrug off being kidnapped and tortured if you like, but the Department takes that sort of thing pretty seriously.”

Biting his tongue down on the first immediate thing that popped into his head - _so then don’t tell them_ , which just wouldn’t fly with Longbottom, he was certain - Draco kept his mouth shut for a few long moments while he considered his options. He sighed lightly, because really, he just wanted to go back to his regular routine and forget this had ever happened. “Do whatever you feel you have to,” he finally commented, which would have come out dismissive and haughty two years ago. Now it was just flat, because Draco had other concerns, and he figured he’d deal with whatever repercussions came from that when they arose. “I just want to go back to business as usual,” slipped out of him mostly on accident, and he almost winced at hearing himself.

Neville hesitated again, thrown off more than anything by Malfoy speaking to him civilly, as though there weren’t all those years of enmity sitting between them. _He_ could feel them though, and it made him even more uncomfortable. “Right,” he said, low. He grunted and lurched to his feet. _Home first_ , he thought, unknowingly following the same instinct that Draco felt. _Clothes on, then tell everyone I’m not dead. No… better just go straight there. Don’t want to run into Gran looking like this._

“Look,” he added, feeling he really ought to say something else. “Um. Thanks. For the Healer, and… I mean, you didn’t have to do all that.” Since Malfoy wouldn’t look at him, he glanced back at the bed, and winced at the mess he had left behind. The mattress was probably beyond repair; he knew all too well how deep blood could penetrate. “Sorry for... ruining your bed.” 

Glancing back at Longbottom when he thanked him, one eyebrow arched up in something like disbelief, Draco was actually rather glad that the other man wasn’t actually looking at him when he replied, without a trace of sarcasm, “Thanks for saving my life.” What was a Healer, and bed and a set of sheets, in the face of that?

Neville wanted to say that it was only his job, but the words stuck in his throat, caught somewhere between shock at Malfoy actually _thanking_ him, and the thought of how that would sound, as though he wouldn’t have tried to save Draco otherwise. Would he have? He hoped so, but it was hard to be really sure. 

Draco pushed himself to standing, setting his teacup down on the tray as he said, “Your stuff’s on the end table with your wand.” Vacating the room - because Draco wouldn’t have wanted Longbottom in the room while he was getting redressed, if their positions had been reversed - he took the entire tray back out to the kitchen as he left. It gave him something to do with his hands, which were trembling just the slightest bit once more as he waited for his guest, as it were, to step out of the bedroom. Of all the possibilities of a former childhood nemesis that could be the ones in his space, Draco thought, this was probably the best possible outcome. He didn’t even want to consider how much worse this could have gone if he’d woken up beside Potter or Weasley.

Neville was left standing alone in his shoes and underthings, in Malfoy’s bedroom. _Bloody hell_ , he thought. _Weird._

His robes were, as he had expected, completely ruined, but he put them on anyway to feel a little more covered up. He winced at the very obvious bloody hole in the back where the last curse had literally disintegrated the fabric. He unpinned his badge, which was thankfully still in one piece, and slipped it into his pocket along with his wand. 

He didn’t want to hang around in Malfoy’s room any longer than he had to; he felt weird enough at being there in the first place. _I was in his bed_ , he thought, with a strange twisting feeling in his stomach. _Well, on his bed, anyway. Better leave that detail out when I tell Harry and Ron this story or I’ll never hear the end of it._

He retreated quickly out of the door, fighting another brief wave of disorientation that came of being inside a place he didn’t remember arriving in. 

Draco glanced up when Longbottom stepped out of the bedroom. As much as he didn’t want to be weird, he couldn’t help the way he stared, taking in the damage to the other man’s robes that spoke to exactly how much damage he’d taken. It was different to be confronted with that in the light of day, as opposed to just experiencing it as a bystander in the middle of the night. 

Looking around as he came out into the main living area, Neville found himself surprised by the modesty of the place. It was nice, but by the Malfoy family’s standards it was surely the equivalent of living in a hole in the ground. It also didn’t look very lived in. There were boxes in a corner that clearly hadn’t even been unpacked. He tried not to stare - it was not, after all, any of his business - and headed for the fireplace. “All right, I’m.. I’ll be off, then,” he said, just as awkward as before. “Er. Look after yourself.” 

“You too,” Draco replied just as awkwardly to that departing statement, unsure of what else he could possibly say to that.

“Right.” Neville nodded, and as he looked up, their eyes met. He looked away, quickly. 

_So weird,_ he thought.

He grabbed a pinch of Floopowder and tossed it into into the fire. He had no idea what he was going to say when he got through, and he could only hope that he wasn’t walking into too big of a panic about his apparent disappearance. And that he wasn’t going to be in too much trouble. 

“Department of Magical Law Enforcement,” he called, and stepped into the flames. He had to force himself in the last second before the network whisked him away, not to look back. 


	2. Interrogation

In the two days since Draco had woken up free of the nightmare that had been his existence for the last several weeks, he hadn’t done much more than eat and sleep. He’d gotten his wand back as soon as possible - Mr. Borgin had kept it locked in his office as soon as he’d figured out what had happened, which Draco appreciated - and had let his mother fuss over him for longer than he normally would have allowed. 

What he hadn’t done was go back to the new flat - other than to get rid of the destroyed mattress and replace it with a new one - nor had he spent a lot of time thinking much about exactly what he’d been through. Draco did occasionally get distracted by random thoughts of Longbottom dragging him across the dark wet expanse of endless earth with curses flying overhead - but he did his best not to. Eventually he’d have to think about it, he knew, but not just yet. Rubbing over the bandage on his left wrist absentmindedly, he stopped himself from going down that line of thinking once again to focus on the actual conversation at hand.

Although he wasn’t quite back up to working yet, he had found himself in Borgin & Burke’s once again after a quick stop by the apothecary - there was somehow no Dreamless Sleep potion left in the manor, and Draco would rather brew it himself to be assured of the quality than to buy the pre-made stuff - and gotten caught up in a discussion about new inventory. He was examining a small wooden puzzle that someone had brought in, bouncing ideas back and forth with Burke on whether or not it was actually cursed, when the door to the shop opened with the usual chime. They both looked up, and Draco managed not to tense at the sight of Auror badges. Neither of the men who stepped in was Longbottom - and he wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed by that fact, though he couldn’t dwell on it - but they did both hone in on him immediately. 

“Mr. Malfoy,” was the greeting, and Draco straightened up a little further, his spine a stiff line. His wand was safely tucked against his chest in the inner pocket of his robe, a reassuring weight in counterpoint to the faint pressure of the bandages.

“Yes, how can I help you gentleman?” he asked, polite because he needed to be, not necessarily because he wanted to be. 

“We need you to come with us,” said the first, a shorter, burly man whose Auror robes stretched slightly across his chest, like they were just a bit too small for his frame. “We have some questions for you.” 

Draco sighed lightly, resisting the urge to reach up and pinch his nose. A headache was already coming on, and he’d only been dealing with these people less than a full minute. “And is there any reason I can’t answer your questions here? I’m sure Mr. Burke wouldn’t protest if we used his office,” he attempted. Burke, who was used to having his premises visited by the authorities, scowled but nodded reluctantly.

“We really do need you to come down to the Ministry,” the second Auror responded. This one was taller, and was so skinny he almost looked like little more than a skeleton with skin. Together they looked like a Saturday cartoon in the _ Daily Prophet _ . 

Resisting the urge to sigh again, Draco turned to Burke to ask if the man could owl his shopping to the manor, to which he agreed, and then stepped out from behind the counter. “Of course,” he agreed with a sharp sort of smirk, and he couldn’t quite hide his disdain as he commented, “Hopefully we can get this taken care of quickly, I have other matters to attend to.”

“We’ll take as long as we need,” the short one snarled as he shoved Draco towards the door, which didn’t bode well at all for his next few hours.    
  
They took him to the Ministry’s private Diagon Alley entrance used only by Aurors and senior officials, known as the Back Door. They didn’t put hands on him but stayed uncomfortably close, wands drawn, as though afraid he might try to bolt at any moment. Draco kept his head high and his posture perfect, since for some reason people made assumptions about guilt from nothing more than a slouch - and he had nothing he was (currently) guilty of. The skinny one used his wand to open a door in an otherwise unremarkable stretch of brick wall, whereupon Draco was ushered down a long, busy corridor. A few people passing them gave him odd looks, but the two Aurors hurried him past before anyone could engage him, until they reached an unobtrusive door that led to a similarly unobtrusive room. It was not the sort of room where one might entertain a guest. He paused very briefly before stepping inside, feeling uncomfortably as though he were walking into his own prison cell. 

A recording device and a self-inking dictoquill resting on a pile of parchment were the only things on the large table, which in itself was the only furniture in the middle of four depressingly blank walls. The short Auror waved his wand and three chairs appeared, two on one side, one on the other. They sat together in the pair of seats, leaving Draco to take the other. With another wand flick the recording device clicked on, the quill stood itself on its nib, ready. Refraining from letting out a snort of disdain at the spartan nature of everything, Draco took the remaining seat, keeping his body language as relaxed as possible as he sat. He had a moment of thankfulness that his sleeves masked the bandages on his wrists, since he didn’t want to be showing even the most minor of weaknesses to these people. 

“Interview commenced,” announced the skinny one, with no further preamble. “In attendance, Auror Wellings, Auror Featherstone,” he nodded to his companion, and then turned his eyes on Draco. “Full name and occupation for the record?” he demanded, and then, almost as an afterthought, “please.” 

With a slightly arched eyebrow, Draco waited an extra heartbeat to ensure he wouldn’t be interrupted before responding. “Draco Lucius Malfoy. Salesman at Borgin & Burkes,” he stated plainly, keeping his voice as level and neutral as possible. 

He thought he had a vague idea of what this was going to entail, but he couldn’t be absolutely certain until the Aurors started with their questions. Already Draco was dreading this entire scenario, but it wasn’t as though there had been any way of avoiding it. Maybe if he’d Confunded Longbottom when he woke up in his bed… then again, that might well have gotten him into even worse trouble than whatever this was. 

Wellings brought out a roll of parchment from his robes and unfurled it several inches, keeping it out of Draco’s view. “Now,” he said, with an air of mock concern. “ _ Mister  _ Malfoy, why don’t you tell us exactly how you came to be in the location where two days ago a raid was carried out on the headquarters of a group of anarchists planning a takedown of the Ministry?” 

Holding back another sigh, Draco took a slow, deep breath before speaking. “Nine days prior, I had been in negotiations with a wizard at Borgin & Burkes,” he began - when he’d gotten his wand, he’d reconfirmed the date of the sale with Borgin, even though it had never been fully executed, specifically in case something like this happened. “Upon the conclusion of the sale, I shook the man’s hand, at which point he Side-Along Apparated me to the location in question.” Short answers, to the point, were the best bet for someone like him - Draco had learned that early on. These people weren’t going to be inclined to listen to him if he wasn’t saying what they wanted to be - and since what they probably wanted was both damning and untrue, he certainly wasn’t about to comply.

Featherstone jumped in like a cat pouncing on a mouse. “The place had anti-Apparition wards around it for half a mile in every direction,” he said. “How do you account for that?” 

Draco turned his head to look at the Auror who’d spoken, incredulous. The nerve these people had was astounding to him. “Obviously, I can only speculate - though I believe that’s technically your job,” he started, “but wards can be changed and modified by the original casters to allow for certain individuals to bypass them. Alternatively, I could guess that they were established after I arrived against my will.” He paused to smile falsely across the table at the Aurors before tacking on, “But again, it was my understanding that was  _ your _ area of expertise.”

Featherstone’s eyes narrowed. “Watch your tone with me, Malfoy,” he growled, leaning over the table. “You’re on thin ice here, lad, very thin ice. Nine days, you said? Want to tell us what you were doing there all that time?” 

“Just making an observation,” Draco commented, because really, it wasn’t his job to figure out those sorts of things even if he could. As for what he’d been doing, he fixed the man with a hard stare as he responded. “I spent nine days telling them I wouldn’t do what they wanted even if it was possible, and being cursed and physically assaulted for my trouble of refusing them.”

“I’m not going to sit here dragging it out of you like pulling teeth.” Featherstone was going rather red in the face. “What did they want you to do? Details, boy.” 

Raising one eyebrow up again, Draco refrained from making a comment about politeness - it would be wasted on brutes like this, he was certain of that much at least. “Are you familiar with the concept of a matched set of Vanishing Cabinets?” he asked instead. It wasn’t a common practice, not any more, and most of the objects from the era when they’d been popular had all been destroyed. 

“We’ve looked into it,” Wellings said, motioning to his roll of parchment. “We’ve also read your file. Was it their intention to try to break into a fortified location in a similar way to the backdoor you so kindly opened for You-Know-Who and his followers to walk unmolested into Hogwarts?”

Draco couldn’t resist such an opening, even if he was well aware it wouldn’t help him in the long run. “There’s the stunning deductive skills your department is known for,” he commented, a jab at the reputation the Ministry was actively trying to improve. “They wanted to do it here,” he explained, a hint condescendingly as he gestured around the room. “They didn’t ask for anywhere specific in the Ministry, just the Ministry itself - which really, is terribly vague, given how large this place is.” He was specifically ignoring the comment about his own actions in the war - Draco was well aware of the information in his file, including the note that he’d been a minor who had acted under extreme duress, which was why he wasn’t currently sitting in a cell in Azkaban. “I repeatedly told them it wasn’t possible, and that even if it was, I wouldn’t help them do it. Which is now the second time I’ve said as much to you, if the record would so kindly reflect that.”

Wellings’ face actually shifted into an expression of genuine concern at this, but Featherstone’s red face suddenly looked like the cat that had got the cream. “The Ministry, eh?” He reached across and took the roll of parchment from Wellings’ hands, waving it in Draco’s face like a baton. “You failed to mention that in your ‘informal statement’ to Auror Longbottom. Any particular reason you wouldn’t offer that  _ vital  _ information, if you are as reformed as you claim to be?” 

Turning his most unimpressed look towards the man so rudely waving the parchment in his face, Draco waited a moment before responding. “Perhaps because it was the first conversation I’d had with someone other than my abductors? After more than a week lacking proper nutrition and sleep, so that I was not functioning at a level of mental acuity that would even come close to normal?” he offered, resigning himself to a few more hours of repetitive bollocks at this point, because clearly neither of these buffoons was actually listening to him. 

“That was two days ago,” Wellings pointed out. “You could have come down here any time, warned us to expect an attack.”

“Unless you didn’t want us to be prepared,” Featherstone interrupted, triumphantly. “Perhaps you were hoping your friends would find a new way in without your help.” 

Draco kind of wanted to scream, because it felt as though this whole thing was just going in an endless circle. That probably wouldn’t get him out of here any faster though, which is what he really wanted. “I certainly wouldn’t wish any death or destruction on anyone,” he stated calmly. “I think we’ve all had quite enough of that.” Letting that sit in the air for a moment, he shrugged as he returned to the first question, as it were. “And I thought I had mentioned it to Longbottom. Clearly not, if he didn’t include it, which was obviously my mistake.”

The two Aurors exchanged narrowed glances. “Very well,” Wellings said, in a tone that suggested the interview was far from over. “ _ Speaking  _ of Junior Auror Longbottom. He reports that he left his post to investigate a suspicious building, which was not marked on our maps, found you there, and released you from your bonds. On your way to the perimeter of the Apparition wards you were set upon by two men who seemed intent on killing  _ you _ in particular before you could escape.” 

“Probably to stop you giving us the exact information you  _ neglected  _ to mention,” Featherstone spat angrily. “Turns out they needn’t have bothered, eh?” 

Wellings gave his companion a warning look, and retrieved the report from his hand, unfurling it again to the halfway point. “Longbottom then says that he was injured in the skirmish, whereupon  _ you  _ were about to retrieve his wand, which you used to Apparate the both of you to your personal residence.” He looked up from the parchment to meet Draco’s eyes. “Sound about right so far?” 

Deciding his best course of action was to just answer whatever actual questions were asked of him, Draco nodded as he stated, “That matches my recollection, which is, admittedly, not wonderful, for the aforementioned reasons.” He focused on Wellings, who seemed to be the brains of these two - at least he hadn’t had the bad luck to get stuck with two Aurors who were both all brawn. 

“Why in Merlin’s name didn’t you take him to the hospital?” Featherstone demanded, slamming his fist down onto the table. “You could have both been treated and debriefed immediately, instead of leading the entire Department on a wild goose chase, not to mention terrifying his poor Grandmother who had to be told after twelve hours that we were starting to look for a body. Tell me, what would you have done if he’d bled to death in your home? Covered it up? Dumped his remains in the street for us to find?” 

Draco leaned away from the man’s fists on the table - and forcibly shoved away the memory of one of his captors, with a fist the same size and heft, coming straight at his face - and shrugged slightly. “I wasn’t really aware of what I was doing,” he explained. “I just knew we couldn’t stay there. I was more concerned with not splinching either of us.” 

He was certain that wasn’t going to be good enough, which was incredibly frustrating, because there was nothing he could say that would be, in that case. 

“You called a Healer,” Wellings said flatly. “But neglected to inform anyone of his whereabouts - or yours, come to that. Do you realise that could be considered kidnapping?” 

“I called a Healer because we were both injured,” Draco stated, feeling as though he shouldn’t have had to, since it was so obvious. “And Longbottom left as soon as he was able. I wouldn’t think that allowing him to sleep off the worst of his injuries would constitute as holding someone against their will. He left as soon as he wanted to.”

-|||——————|||————

Neville, who hadn’t exactly had the best two days of his life either, had just shown up for his first shift back when he realised people were giving him odd looks. He checked the mirror on the inside of his locker; he had remembered to brush his hair that morning and the cardigan he’d been about to exchange for a fresh uniform was neat and clean and not hexed pink, or anything. 

“Neville!” Harry and Ron were coming over, waving enthusiastically. 

“How’re you doing, are you okay?” Harry asked, sounding genuinely concerned. 

Neville grimaced and pulled his bag off his shoulder. “I’m  _ fine _ ,” he sighed. He had just spent the last forty-eight hours assuring his Gran as much, and he was tired of it. She usually wasn’t one to make that sort of fuss - she wasn’t exactly the kiss-the-boo-boo type - but apparently the Department had been sure enough that he was lying in bits somewhere that they’d convinced her, as well. After he’d shown up in his bloody, torn robes, they’d made him see another Healer, at St Mungo’s, and told to take two days off of active duty, once he’d made his report. He’d murmured through it in a bit of a haze and gone home to face the music without talking to anyone else. 

“We thought we’d lost you there for a minute,” Ron breathed. He looked strangely satisfied. “Is it true, did Malfoy really grab you?” 

Neville frowned at this phrasing. “He got us both out, if that’s what you mean,” he said, carefully, exchanging glances with Harry. “Why, what are people saying?” 

“Just that Malfoy was there for some reason, and he took off with you and that’s why you were missing,” Ron said, raising an eyebrow. 

Neville supposed that was technically true, but it still sounded strangely accusatory. “I got knocked stupid and he Apparated us out,” he clarified. “We were both unconscious for a while, that’s all, or I would have been back much earlier.” He looked around, suddenly aware that Ron wasn’t the only one looking satisfied. “What’s going on?” he asked, suspiciously. 

Ron snickered. “You can’t hear them? Featherstone and Wellings are interrogating him now, the smarmy git. If he thought he could get away with-” 

Neville strained his hearing. He could indeed hear distant shouting. His heart sank, though he couldn’t have said for sure why, and he slammed his locker door closed. “Where are they?” he demanded. 

“Interview room six,” Harry said, frowning. “But -” 

Neville ignored him and took off, ducking through the other Aurors arriving for the afternoon shift, and ran down the corridor towards the noise. 

Both the senior Aurors looked up in surprise and disapproval as Neville burst unannounced into the room. Malfoy looked around at him and their eyes met. He looked annoyed but otherwise healthy, Neville was pleased to see.  _ Why am I pleased?  _ he wondered, but then Wellings cleared his throat and raised his eyebrows at him, expectantly. Featherstone, who had never been one of Neville’s favourite people, though he certainly wouldn’t want to be on the opposite side to him in a fight, looked about ready to blow. 

Longbottom stepping into the room was something Draco never knew he’d be grateful for, but there was a definite sense of relief that washed over him at the same time he met the man’s gaze. He was glad to see him up and moving without any apparent pain - the curse that had hit his leg had been particularly nasty - even if he had no idea why he felt that way. 

“Um,” Neville started, poorly, and managed to draw himself up in the face of everyone’s eyes suddenly on him. He looked at Wellings. “Could… could I have a word with you, sir?” 

The thin man frowned. “Longbottom, what do you think you are doing? You know you cannot simply walk into an interview -” 

“Yes sir - I mean no, sir, but-” Neville swallowed, suddenly reliving the last thirty seconds in an altogether different light. What  _ was  _ he doing? “Sir,” he tried again, “I did say in my report that I didn’t think Malfoy was actually involved in-” 

“That is not your judgment to make, Longbottom!” Featherstone shouted. Clearly he was already fired up and ready to lash out at anyone who got in his way, which didn’t bode well. 

“Your opinion has been noted,  _ Junior  _ Auror Longbottom,” Wellings said, more calmly. Neville usually liked Wellings, he was strict but fair most of the time and had been a mentor to all three of the youngest Aurors when they had started training. At the moment the look on his face reminded him strongly of McGonagall in a snit. 

“Yes, sir,” Neville said again. For a moment he almost balked -  _ just go back, get changed, get a cup of tea, let the people with experience handle it -  _ but then he looked at Malfoy again, and saw the bandages peeking out from the sleeve of his robes, and remembered the otherworldly sight of him sitting curled up in the window in his pyjamas, small and vulnerable. “It’s just that...” he went on, forcing himself to look Wellings in the face. “I didn’t realise… I might have been unclear about what happened…” 

“Mister Malfoy does not dispute the facts as you have given them,” Featherstone growled. “Do you?” he shot in Malfoy’s direction.

Draco had been listening very carefully to the back-and-forth, unwittingly impressed and touched by Longbottom’s defense, as it were, of his actions. Even if it wasn’t necessarily  _ for _ him, he still appreciated it - and he rather hoped it didn’t negatively impact the Gryffindor in the long run. Bureaucracy was fickle, which was only part of the reason Draco had avoided the Ministry, but it seemed silly for Longbottom to get a black mark for… what, saving Draco’s life? Maybe he was losing the thread of things a little, especially since he had to blink and refocus when another question was volleyed in his direction.

“Which ones?” he asked in return, cutting his gaze back to the thin Auror instead of acknowledging the short, angry one. “Forgive me for needing the reminder, but the excessive repetition has made it difficult for me to keep track.”

Wellings actually had to put out a hand to stop Featherstone from launching himself across the table at Draco. “Calm down, Jack,” he muttered.

Longbottom shot Draco a look, apparently to let him know he was not being helpful. Draco arched an eyebrow up slightly in return, because it wasn’t as though he had many other options to express his feelings on the matter. 

“Sir, I think the facts might have been misinterpreted,” Neville put in quickly before Featherstone could launch into another tirade. “If Malfoy hadn’t Apparated us out of the raid we would almost definitely have both been killed. He wouldn’t have bothered if he wanted to do me any harm. Neither of us were in any state to manage anything more sir, really.”

Wellings looked highly dubious, and Featherstone’s expression didn’t change at all. “Be that as it may,” Wellings said, shortly. “The gaps in your report were wide and various. Questions needed to be asked. There was no need for you to be present at this interview, or I should have  _ asked _ you. Now -” 

“With all due respect, sir,” Neville interrupted, which made Wellings’ eyebrows almost disappear into his receding hairline. Neville was angry himself now, and while he wasn’t the sort to blow up at his superior officers, as Harry might have, he also wasn’t about to be shouted down in the face of something he  _ knew _ was wrong. “This isn’t an interview, it’s an interrogation. Look at him. He’s been starved, and tortured, and you’re treating him like a criminal - ” 

“He  _ is _ a criminal,” Featherstone snapped. “A criminal who never went to prison, in a gross miscarriage of justice - ”

“Have you arrested him?” Neville asked, heart pounding as he looked between his superiors. He could tell from the look on Wellings’ face that they had nothing concrete with which to charge their prisoner. If they had, they probably wouldn’t have let Featherstone anywhere near him. He looked at Malfoy. There was a strange look on his face that he couldn’t read. “You don’t have to stay, if they aren’t charging you,” Neville told him, flatly. “You could just go.” 

Draco blinked, trying to process exactly what was happening - he had no earthly idea why Longbottom was sticking his neck out for him in such a manner, especially since there was no way he’d ever done anything to deserve it. He opened his mouth to ask, except that he was cut off by the angry Auror - which was just as well, since he had no idea what words would have communicated his complete and utter confusion. 

“Longbottom!” Featherstone roared. “You are interfering with an ongoing investigation into a gang of terrorists bent on attacking the Ministry. Get out or I’ll have your damn badge.” 

Neville surprised even himself by shrugging. “Take it then,” he said, his voice perfectly calm despite the pounding in his chest. “I joined the Aurors to  _ help _ people who were victims of crime, not persecute them.”

Feeling rather like he’d gotten punched in the chest again at Longbottom’s response, Draco gaped. 

“Victim, pah,” Featherstone spat. “You really think -” 

“Sir, you didn’t see him,” Longbottom said, rounding on the shorter man. “No one evaluated him, so you’ll just have to take my word for it. He was chained up, and bruised all over, and he could hardly stand, let alone run for his life. I was unconscious, and he could have taken my wand and left me for dead. He didn’t. He saved me, at the risk of Splinching himself halfway across the country, and he-”

“The least he could have done,” Wellings put in, in a voice so cold that it brought Neville up short, “under the circumstances.” He frowned, and gave him a concerned sort of look, as though Neville were a child who didn’t quite understand what he was saying. “I know his father well, Neville,” Wellings said, quietly. “He played both sides whenever he could, trying to make sure he always ended up on the winning team. This is just the same. Do you think Draco here would have cared if you had been killed by the curse that was meant for him? 

Neville felt colour rise in his face, and he avoided Malfoy’s eyes. “It doesn’t matter what I think. Sir,” he added belatedly, his chest suddenly very tight. “You always told us that saving people’s lives was more important than anything else, even our own. Or are we only supposed to apply that to people we personally like?” 

There was silence in the room while both men stared at him, furious. Neville still didn’t dare look Malfoy in the face. After what felt like an hour, Wellings sighed heavily and looked away. “So get out,” he muttered, sitting back in his chair. Neville hesitated. “Both of you,” the man snapped, waving his hand. 

“Cornelius-” Featherstone protested, but Longbottom was already grabbing Draco by his sleeve and tugging him out of the room. Apparently that desperate escape two nights ago had engrained something like trust or instinct in him, because he didn’t even try and fight against the other wizard's hold as they left the room and closed the door behind them. Ignoring the raised voice of the short angry one on the other side of the door as another argument broke out, Draco looked at Longbottom with an expression that was incredulous and impressed all at once. 

“Have you completely lost your head?” he asked in a murmur of amazement. Draco was staring, he knew he was staring, and he also couldn’t seem to make himself stop. They were alone in the hallway, at least for right now, and he was still having trouble processing that Longbottom had stood up for  _ him _ , of all people, to his superiors in such a way.

If someone had told Neville a year ago that he’d be going to bat for Malfoy under such circumstances… well, he definitely wouldn’t have believed it. He still wasn’t even sure why he bothered, since it wasn’t like Malfoy wasn’t capable of worming his way out of all kinds of situations on his own, except that… well, it was just right, wasn’t it? Or maybe Malfoy was right, and it was really was just a foolish Gryffindor thing. He still had to force himself to look Malfoy in the eyes. “You’re welcome,” he said flatly, feeling exposed under Malfoy’s wide-eyed look. He scratched the back of his neck, self-consciously. _ Now what? _

Deflating just slightly, Draco said softly, “Thanks.” It wasn’t quite as easy as last time - but it also wasn’t as difficult as he might have thought. And he  _ was _ incredibly grateful to not be stuck in that room any longer. 

__ “We should get out of here before they come out,” Neville said, thinking privately that it was also only a matter of time before Harry and Ron came looking for him, which was a confrontation he didn’t want to face just at the moment. 

Draco tilted his head to the side a bit, studying the body language Longbottom was giving him, and not coming to any definitive conclusions. “I am all for getting out of here,” he agreed emphatically. “But you’ll have to lead the way, because I have no idea where I am, and something tells me that wandering around on my own would be a bad idea.”

Neville chuckled, and then realised he’d actually laughed at something  _ Malfoy  _ had said, and he felt confused again.  _ Maybe it’s the bump to the head,  _ he thought despairingly, plucking at the sleeve of his cardigan.  _ I can’t keep things straight. And he just thanked me, AGAIN.  _ He wondered if the anarchists hadn’t somehow replaced the Malfoy  _ he  _ knew with a politer model. 

Draco grinned victoriously at the sound of Longbottom’s laugh, beyond pleased with himself at managing to get such a reaction out of him. It struck him as a little odd to be so smug about that, but he’d worry about it later, when he wasn’t in the man’s presence. 

“Yeah,” Neville said awkwardly, trying to gather himself. Had he really just told Auror Featherstone that he could  _ take his badge?  _ Why did he get the feeling his next training session was going to be a living hell? “C’mon, I’ll sneak you out the back way.” Putting his hands in his pockets to stop himself fidgeting, he turned and led Draco back the way he had come, keeping a wary eye over his shoulder every now and then, just in case. “How’re your hands?” he asked, in an attempt to fill the awkward silence, glancing over at Malfoy’s bandaged wrists. “The Healer couldn’t fix them?”   
  
Draco had to stop himself from hunching his shoulders defensively - at least until he remembered that Longbottom had seen him in a much worse state. “There was an infection,” he explained with a small shrug. “Wraps’ll come off tomorrow, and we’ll see what happens next.” Healer Finley was optimistic that there wouldn’t be any scarring, or that it would be minimal if there was - and even though he knew it was another facet of his vanity, Draco was really hoping he was right about that. “But it’s a full range of motion, so at least there’s that,” he added with another small shrug. “How’s the shoulder? And the leg?” he asked in return, not bothering to pretend like he wasn’t aware of Longbottom’s various injuries from that night.

Neville rubbed absently at his collarbone. “Fine, actually,” he said, thinking  _ good thing I didn’t try to heal his wrists myself.  _ “Your Healer must be pretty good. When I went to St. Mungo’s they said there wasn’t even any curse residue. I’ll have a scar on my back, but what’s one more?” He shrugged, motioning vaguely to his face, where a thin white line through his brow continued past his eye and down to his chin, a souvenir of his last year at Hogwarts. “Anyway, _ I  _ won’t see it.”

The corridor wasn’t well enough lit for Draco to really see what Longbottom was gesturing to - but he could clearly recall the other man’s face, asleep on the pillow directly in front of his own. The scar in question hadn’t been terribly noticeable, at least not in his opinion. 

The concept of  _ ‘what’s one more scar’ _ hit a little closer than Draco would have liked to admit to - the backs of his thighs had a mess of them, courtesy of Uncle Rod. Even now the thought of him made Draco want to hide like a child, and he was still trying to teach himself to lose the familiarity and implications of respect in that title, especially since he didn’t have either of those for the man in question. Realizing that he needed to say something - and not wanting to continue down the line of thinking he’d been following in his head - he cleared his throat once before saying, “Good to hear there’s no permanent damage.”

Neville flinched and stopped walking. He shot Malfoy a sharp look. But no, he realised with some embarrassment, as Malfoy looked back at him in surprise - it wasn’t a jibe. He was just expecting it to be, because it was bloody  _ Malfoy _ , and it was  _ just  _ the kind of thing Malfoy would say.  _ Permanent damage.  _ But looking at Malfoy’s puzzled face, it was clear he hadn’t meant it that way, and hadn’t even considered how those words could be interpreted. Neville realised that he wasn’t even sure Malfoy  _ knew  _ about his parents, and it’d be a pretty low jab under the circumstances even for the old Malfoy, who had had about as much tact as a Blast-Ended-Skrewt. “Right,” Neville managed, suddenly as awkward as he ever had been at fourteen, “Sorry, I thought you meant… never mind.” He sighed, and decided he might as well be honest. “I just can’t get used to you being civil,” he explained. “Are you sure you didn’t get hit in the head as well?”

Draco wasn’t sure he wanted to know what Longbottom had thought he’d meant - he was certain he deserved whatever distrust was behind that statement, even if he hadn’t meant anything more than what he said. He snorted lightly at the question, a little amused if only because he supposed he could see where Longbottom was coming with it. 

“No head injuries,” he confirmed, shrugging lightly again. “Just…” Draco paused, not having any idea how to finish that statement. “Trying something different,” he concluded, somewhat lamely, but it was all he had. 

Somehow, Neville could believe that, and he found himself rather impressed. If anything he appreciated a conscious effort more than some sudden revelation, or whatever other explanation could be given for such a change. “Well, it’s working for you,” he said, running a hand through his curls. “Not with them, obviously,” he added, jerking his head back towards the interview room. “But… I mean, they are good people, you know… they’re good at what they do.” He bit his lip. “It was probably my fault they dragged you in. I should have stayed and asked more questions, at the time… only I thought you’d probably much rather I buggered off. And I  _ did  _ have a head injury, so I was a bit, you know... unprofessional. Still, they could have talked to me again before they actually accused you of kidnapping. I’m sorry about that.” 

Smirking just a little at Longbottom’s assertion that the change was a good thing - and yes, Draco was aware those hadn’t been the man’s exact words, but it seemed close enough to paraphrase it in such a way - he snorted out another small chuckle at the caveat about not having been so with the other Aurors. Which, really, he couldn’t argue with, but he wasn’t bothered by that. Draco shrugged off the man’s  _ sorry _ . “No apology needed,” he said, because really, it was hardly Longbottom’s fault. “Weird accusations are part and parcel of being Lucius Malfoy’s son,” he offered like an explanation, vaguely wondering if the disgust he felt for the man was audible in the way he said his name.

Neville was surprised; he had always thought that trying to be a carbon copy of his dad was Malfoy’s whole thing, but maybe that was part of what had changed. “Well,” he said, frowning. “It’s not like you never did  _ anything,  _ to be fair. You  _ did  _ let all those Death Eaters into Hogwarts. I almost died that night, if you’d forgotten, and Dumbledore  _ did.  _ You can’t blame them for being suspicious of you when you show up somewhere you’re not meant to be.” He realised that he’d said ‘them’, not ‘us’, but it was too late to correct himself.

Draco was abruptly reminded that he was speaking with someone who, by all means, had every right to despise every inch of his being. “I am very well aware of exactly what I did and didn’t do, and my responsibilities therein,” he stated, his back straightening once again. It was yet another defensive mechanism, the mask that came along with a certain posture and way of speaking and holding himself. That, at least, had been drilled into his head for as long as he could remember, even if he was only now coming to use it to its full extent. 

This was a different kind of awkwardness, Neville thought, the kind where the last eight years of enmity shimmered between them like an invisible, bristling wall of spikes, waiting for them to walk into it. If he wanted to fight, he could easily turn this into one; all it would take was a few choice words. 

“I hope so,” he said carefully instead, like walking on broken glass. “I guess that’s what matters. That you remember.” He shoved his hands back in his pockets. It felt weird to just start walking again, now, but he couldn’t think what else to say. 

There wasn’t much Draco could say to that, and he was rather glad that Longbottom walked away instead of pushing the matter. No matter what personal changes he might be going through, no one else was privy to that - which was something he needed to be better about remembering. 

He followed the other man down the hall, idly wondering how much further it was, but not about to ask in case it came across as ungrateful for Longbottom’s assistance in getting him out in the first place. 

The wall at the end of the hall opened for Neville when he flicked his wand in sequence to a number of bricks in turn - far more bricks and a more complex combination than the one used to open the entrance to Diagon Alley. “Don’t tell anyone I did this,” he said, realising belatedly that he hadn’t even tried to hide the sequence by blocking Malfoy’s eyeline with his body. “We’re only meant to bring people in this way.” The wall opened, leaving them back on the Diagon Alley side. 

He’d been so caught up in his own mind that Draco hadn’t even noticed that they’d arrived at the exit, as it were. Shaking his head just enough to clear out the excess, unhelpful thoughts that had gathered there, he offered, “Your secret is safe with me.” It was only after the words had left his mouth that he realized how potentially awkward the statement was. Straightening the cuffs of his sleeves as he stepped out into Diagon Alley again, he paused for just a moment before extending his hand to shake Longbottom’s, if he chose to. “Thanks, again,” Draco said softly, hoping the sincerity came through in his voice.

Neville hesitated, but just a moment, before giving Draco his hand. Considering he had been practically carrying the smaller man on his back a couple of days ago, this shouldn’t have felt like a step forward, but it did, anyway. “You’re welcome,” he said, solemnly. “Listen, if you remember anything… you know, about the people who took you, will you let me know? They caught most of them, but the ones who tried to kill us got away. I expect you’d rather they didn’t get the chance to try again.”

Nodding his understanding and agreement, Draco reiterated it, “If anything comes to mind, you’ll be the first to know.” And probably the only one he’d tell, if he was being honest with himself, which he tried to do these days. He tried not to focus too much on Longbottom’s hand in his own, a big, rough hand against his own, slender fingers. “Have a good afternoon,” he offered, and took a hasty step back. He Apparated back to the manor before he could embarrass himself even further, and let out a huge breath he hadn’t even realised he’d been holding. He stared down at his hand, feeling eerily as though he could still feel Longbottom’s hand in his. 


	3. The Ball

As a child, Neville had been dragged along to any number of charity functions, made to wear his best clothes, sat firmly in a chair and told to sit still for the next several hours and not to go anywhere or touch anything. This would have been difficult for any six year old boy, but for one who more than anything loved being outdoors and getting dirty whenever possible, it had been little Neville’s idea of hell, and as an adult it was hardly his idea of fun, either. 

“They’re _green_ , Gran,” he complained, when Augusta revealed that she had bought him a set of brand new dress robes for the occasion. Hermione had invited them both, of course, and he would have been perfectly happy to let his Grandmother represent the family at what Ron had derisively called a ‘pissing contest for rich people’, but she wouldn’t hear of it. 

“Don’t be so silly,” she said, the way she always did, tugging on his sleeves to make sure they were even. “Dark green suits you; it goes much better with your hair than that red and black monstrosity you usually wear.”

“You mean my _uniform_?” Neville rolled his eyes, though he was careful not to let her see. “Dark green is _worse._ At least in light green I might look like a Healer - in this I might as well be carrying a giant Slytherin banner.” 

“Oh, psh,” Augusta tapped him on the head with her stick - a little harder than was necessary, he thought. He was convinced she didn’t really need the stick, she’d just started using it so she’d have something to threaten him with, now that he was a head taller than she was. “Light green makes you look ill, and you aren’t at school anymore, need I remind you. It’s important for a young man your age to make the effort at events like these.” 

He groaned. “Gran, I swear, if you start matchmaking -” 

“You’re nineteen now, Neville. I was married at seventeen, you know.” 

“I know, but -” 

“I know at least three society mothers who will be there, looking for husbands for their girls. It doesn’t hurt to keep your options open.” 

“ _Gran!”_

She spun him around and pushed him in front of the mirror, forestalling any further argument about his prospects. Frowning at his reflection, he had to admit that the robes _did_ suit him. It helped that they fit properly, and that he was now taller and fitter than he had been while stepping on Ginny’s feet at the Yule Ball. They were layered over a waistcoat which was trim to the waist, with small gold buttons that had taken an age to do up. They wouldn’t be so bad, he thought, reluctantly, if it wasn’t for the light grey inner lining which could, in a certain light, almost certainly be called silver; there was no way he was getting through the evening without at least a few snide comments from former schoolmates. 

“Are you sure I have to go?” he asked, childishly, in a last ditch effort to avoid the whole debacle. It wasn’t that often he had a night off, and he’d rather been looking forward to working on the miniature tree project he’d started in his rare free time. 

“You’re the curator of your father’s estate, Neville,” she reminded him, not for the first time. In his defense, he hadn’t asked for this particular honour; she had promptly dumped it on him the moment he turned eighteen, stating that she had been looking after the Longbottom fortune for far too long, and it was about time he took on some responsibility. “It’s your pockets they want to dig into, not mine. You are no longer a child. Now go and brush your hair.”

It was an autumn-themed ball, which, Neville realised too late, made his robes even less appropriate - most of the guests seemed to have chosen red, gold, or orange colours. The venue was similarly decorated, with yellowing leaves falling occasionally from above the chandeliers - a group of young children were enthusiastically sweeping them together into piles and jumping in them. Neville looked at them with some envy as his Gran forced him to mingle. 

He couldn’t help noticing that, along with Hermione and the people from some of the other charitable foundations who had joined together to host the event, Mrs. Malfoy was there, speaking to everyone, making sure all the guests had a glass in their hand, and looking admittedly stunning. He found himself wondering how Hermione could possibly stand to work with her, after she’d been kept prisoner and tortured in the Malfoy’s house. And then he remembered the events of the summer raid. 

It seemed like a long time ago now, although it had only really been a couple of months. He’d been surprised when he explained to the others what had really happened, and Hermione had backed him up on Malfoy’s behalf, much to Ron’s disgust. Harry hadn’t said much, but then he _had_ been instrumental in keeping all the Malfoys out of Azkaban, so he could hardly object. 

“Looking for someone?” 

He realised he’d been glancing over the other guests, searching the sea of heads. “No,” he lied. 

Hermione smiled. “Having a good time?”

He grimaced. “You know if you want some money, you could just ask. I’ll give you a sack of gold and have done without any of this nonsense.” 

She rolled her eyes heavily, smoothing the side of her pretty burgundy gown. “Boys. You’d rather hand over your worldly possessions than have to spend one evening making small talk in dress robes.” 

Neville didn’t see what was wrong with that, at all. He smirked back at her. “Harry didn’t want to come either?” 

“Harry has an excuse,” she said promptly. “He’s very famous.” 

He snorted. “Oh, thanks.” 

“He made a giant donation in Teddy’s name, so I let him off.” 

“Ron?” 

She giggled. “At something like this? I’d rather pull all my own teeth out.” 

“Well, that bodes well for the wedding, then.” 

“We aren’t engaged.” 

“Yet.” 

“ _Neville_.” 

“Sorry.” He grinned, not sorry at all. 

She made a face at him. “Just for that, I’m going to tell all the matchmaking mothers I meet that you’re extremely eligible.” 

“Ugh, you wouldn’t.” Neville sighed. “Having Gran on at me is bad enough. She’s never cared what I look like before, so long as I was clean.” He plucked dubiously at his gold buttons. “I look like a nob.” 

“No offence, Neville, but you _are_ a nob, no matter what you wear. And really, you look very nice. Don’t you think so, Draco?” she asked, looking around Neville’s left arm. 

* * *

Charity events were not one of Draco’s favorite things in the world. He was perfectly capable of getting dressed up and being charming and sociable and all the other things it entailed - but as he got older it was less and less fun, and more like pulling on another mask for a specific occasion. For weeks, his mother had been simply acting on the assumption that he would show up to this party, and he probably could have ducked out of it at the last moment if he’d really wanted to. But just a few days prior, during the final bits of planning, Hermione had turned to Draco with a sharp look and explicitly asked, “You _are_ coming, right?” And at this point in their budding friendship, he’d been wary about refusing. It wasn’t exactly a hardship, even if he had grumbled about it a little bit just for show. 

So here he was, in black dress robes with light blue accents and white buttons, with a glass of champagne in one hand that he had barely touched, his eyes wandering over the crowd. There were a number of the children that he’d worked with before running around, and Draco was keeping them in mind as a backup plan to avoid anyone he really didn’t want to talk to. He was making his way around the edges of the room, making small talk as he went, until his ears picked up Hermione’s voice - and when he turned, he saw her talking to Longbottom. 

Draco froze for half a moment, memories from the summer hitting him full force once again. He’d tried to forget all about the whole debacle as the months had passed, but he hadn’t been able to avoid occasionally wondering about Longbottom and whether he’d gotten in trouble for the way he’d intervened with Draco’s interview. He’d deliberately not tried to find out, because the way his heart had started thumping every time he recalled their handshake for days afterwards was more than a little disturbing. 

Hermione had heard about what had happened to him, no doubt from her redheaded giant of a boyfriend, and it turned out that she had apparently been wondering why he hadn’t shown up for a volunteer shift he’d forgotten about, which meant that she’d been more worried about him than even his own family. At her prompting, he had told her about Longbottom’s rescue and their subsequent escape from the people who’d been holding him. She had _not_ seemed surprised at Longbottom’s actions, only shrugging when he tried to put into words his confusion over Longbottom’s apparent lack of hostility. “That’s Neville,” was all she had really said, though she had seemed pleased that he had survived an interaction with a Gryffindor other than herself. Since then, she had been even friendlier to him than before, and he had had to scramble to keep up, struggling to smile and remember to use her first name. 

And now she was deliberately drawing him into the conversation, which he might even have expected, but he didn’t think he could have prepared himself for this particular question as the manner in which he’d be pulled in. At least it served the purpose of giving him the opportunity to look Longbottom thoroughly up and down - the man really had gotten unfairly attractive at some point when Draco hadn’t been paying attention - and he said with a small grin of his own, “You do clean up very well, Longbottom. Nice robes.” Longbottom grimaced. Returning his gaze to Hermione, Draco smirked a little wider as he added, “Though of course, no one is as radiant as you are, tonight, Miss Granger.” 

“Stuff it,” Hermione told him with a light smack to his left arm. Draco blinked, then chuckled - this was apparently the way Gryffindors communicated, words punctuated with minor pain. “Or I’ll make you go deal with Mrs. Greengrass.” And that was a threat if he’d ever heard one - the widow was intent on attempting to set him up with one of her daughters, and apparently didn’t care which, or for anyone else’s opinion on the matter. He now wished he hadn’t given Hermione that information.

Neville meanwhile was doing his own best not to stare. The last time Neville had seen Draco, he had not exactly been in the best of health, and somehow that made it easier to separate him with the Malfoy of the past, in his mind. Now however he found himself looking at his childhood bully in his element, appearing much more comfortable in his dress robes than Neville would ever be in _anything_ , and the only difference was the way he teased and joked with Hermione as though they were friends. It was extremely jarring. “You look, um…” he started, stopped, and then realised he had to say something or it would sound even stranger than whatever words he had originally intended to stumble over, “...much better,” he managed lamely at last. “Glad to see you’re… er… still alive.” 

Hermione gave him a rather exasperated look which he didn’t quite know how to interpret. “I can trust the two of you to behave, can’t I?” she asked, looking directly at _him,_ which he didn’t think was fair. 

Longbottom’s comments were not exactly effusive, but Draco preened just a bit nonetheless. It was probably a bit sad that he was celebrating the minor victory of someone being glad he wasn’t dead - but he was used to needing to be satisfied with the little things, these days. 

“For a given definition of ‘behave’, I’m sure we can manage,” Draco offered, even if Hermione didn’t seem to be directing the question to him. Probably because they’d done a few of these types of events together before, and he hadn’t caused trouble at any of those, even prior to their new dynamic. 

She glared at him briefly, something like disbelief or mistrust in her eyes, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as it could have been, a few months ago. He grinned in the face of it, which had Hermione rolling her eyes as she stepped away, but it was a fonder expression than it really had any right to be. 

“Do you need a drink?” Draco asked Longbottom, figuring it was both the easiest and the most polite way to start off, now that Hermione wasn’t there as a buffer. 

Seeing Hermione and Draco acting downright friendly was strange, but somehow comforting; Neville had been starting to wonder if he hadn’t just imagined the change in Malfoy and had made a giant fool of himself, but he trusted _Hermione’s_ judgement. After all, if anyone had a reason to detest the Malfoys and their famously bigoted stance on Muggleborn wizards and witches, it was her. 

“Please,” Neville said, bringing himself back to the present. He hardly ever drank alcohol, having not quite developed a taste for it yet, but he hadn’t realise this event would put him quite so on edge. He followed Malfoy into the crowd. “You two are... getting along, then?” he asked, carefully, as they made their way through the assembled masses to a table laden with refreshments. “I hadn’t realised you were on first name terms.” 

Leading the way through the assembled minglers, Draco nodded slightly even as he shrugged in response. “It took us a while to get to that point,” he admitted, stepping aside to let the other man peruse the table and choose whatever he wanted, “but we’re doing okay these days,” he added. “You should hear my mother sing her praises. Actually, come to think of it, you probably will, if you stick around long enough to hear the speeches of the evening.” Draco realized he was babbling rather inanely, and took a sip from his glass to give his mouth something else to do.

Neville noted with some amusement that there was Butterbeer on the tables - for the children, he realised - but he somehow thought Malfoy might find that unrefined, so he opted for dipping a ladle in the giant red punchbowl instead. Only after he had filled his glass did he wonder why on earth he suddenly cared what _Malfoy_ thought of his beverage choices. He sipped at it defiantly anyway; it was pleasantly mellow with a hint of blackberry and rum. 

He grimaced a little at the mention of speeches. “I was sort of hoping I could get it over with sooner rather than later,” he admitted. “Not that this isn’t all… nice. Only I just know I’m going to end up breaking something, or spilling something down some girl’s dress, or generally making an idiot of myself.” He looked dubiously at the giant champagne tower at the far end of the table. It was practically begging him to take a glass from the bottom level, causing a great crashing cascade of glass and bubbles. He looked quickly away, in case just picturing it was enough to make it happen. 

Draco remembered Longbottom’s clumsiness - it was hard not to, but it was also a little difficult to reconcile that forgetful, clumsy child with the tall, solid-looking man in front of him now. He almost wished the same could be said of himself - but he was well aware that despite whatever improvements he had worked to make on himself, he was still very similar to the boy he had been - at least physically. Longbottom was suddenly a good head and a half taller than he was, even with neither of them limping, and you could practically see his chest muscles through his dress robes.

“I’m a little envious you have the option of skipping out early,” Draco admitted, hiding his confusion in his wine glass. “I’m pretty sure they’d both have my hide if I disappeared before the end of the night so they can boss me around on how to disassemble the decorations.” 

“Oh, well, the _option,_ sure,” Neville admitted, taking a deeper, longer sip of the punch, which he decided he actually quite liked. “Not where my Gran’s concerned.” He glanced quickly over his shoulder, as Augusta had the occasional habit of showing up right when he was talking about her. “I mean, I’m all for supporting a good cause, but showing off that you’re supporting it sort of seems like it cancels out a good deed, doesn’t it? Or does it just not count, if people don’t know you’ve done it?” He winced, realising that he sounded rather petulant. 

Chuckling heartily at the observations in those questions, Draco nodded his agreement as he said, “I’m pretty sure that exact ‘damned-if-you-do-and-damned-if-you-don’t’ conundrum is the current definition of my life.” That was, perhaps, a little too personal of a revelation for their current conversation. But it was harder to get much more personal than waking up in bed next to someone after a night that involved mutual-life-saving actions, so he found he was less concerned about that than he probably should be. He rushed into a question to cover himself - “so, is it the job, or a personal preference that keeps you from the majority of these?” He gave a small wave of his hand to indicate the room as a whole.

Neville considered. “Both?” he said finally. “There’s not exactly a lot of free time, between training and active duty and office hours…” he shrugged. “And if I had the choice I’d rather be spending that time with people who aren’t looking at me like a bag of Galleons in dress robes. No offence,” he added, belatedly. 

“None taken,” Draco reassured him with a small grin. “You’re not wrong.” The image itself was funny enough, but Longbottom had definitely hit the nail on the head with his comparison. He’d lost track of the number of times it had become obvious that he was only involved in a conversation for the possibility of a monetary incentive down the line. These days he had less patience for it than he used to, if maybe a little more tact on bowing out of them. He realised that Longbottom was, as the only living heir to his family, almost as independently rich as Draco would be whenever Lucius finally kicked the bucket. The Longbottoms were almost as old a family and almost as wealthy as the Malfoys. He’d never thought of Longbottom that way - he didn’t _act_ like a Pureblood heir, or at least the way they were supposed to. 

“And what would you rather be doing with a free evening?” he asked, genuinely curious and hoping it didn’t come across as snobbish. 

Neville gave Draco an appraising look for a moment before judging his question to be in genuine interest. He bit his lip and shook his head. “You’ll laugh at me.” 

That stung, just a little, but Draco couldn't exactly argue that he’d never given the other man reason to believe that. “I won’t, but you don’t have to answer,” he said instead. Shrugging his shoulders lightly, he offered, “I’d probably be flying, before it gets too cold to do that without warming charms.”

Neville shuddered. “By yourself?” he exclaimed. “You mean, for fun?” He made a face. He still hated flying; he’d do it, if he had to travel by air, but his jaw always ached for hours afterwards from the way he clenched it. “Sounds awful.”

Chuckling again, Draco nodded, ducking his head slightly with an almost bashful sort of smile. “Flying has always been one of my favorite things,” he admitted with another small shrug. “I get that it’s not everyone’s cup of tea.”

Neville still thought the idea was stomach-churning, but he felt rather bad for maligning Draco’s hobby - he didn’t make any secret of his dislike of hurtling around at absurd speeds a hundred feet above the ground around Harry or Ron, but they were used to what they viewed as his eccentricity and didn’t take it to heart. Privately he thought that if Draco hadn’t been such a git in their first year, he might have bonded with some of his fellow Gryffindors over a shared love of flying, something that he himself might never understand. “Fine,” he sighed, reasoning that if Malfoy laughed, it wouldn’t be the first time, and it would probably hurt less than being teased by a friend. “Well… you’ve heard of bonsai trees, right? Miniature trees? Well… wizards in Japan have been growing them for like thousands of years in a way that you can sort of store magic in them. They’re called _shakkans._ It means you can use them as an anchor for complicated spells, or heal yourself quicker, and you can use the clippings and the roots for potions ingredients. They’re really jealous about it, though, so there aren’t any books or anything, and they won’t tell any foreign wizards how it’s done. I’m trying to figure it out on my own.” He glanced at Draco out of the corner of his eye to see how he would take this. “I’ve been trying to grow one. So that’s.. That’s probably what I’d be doing now.”

Draco blinked as Neville explained, more than a little surprised. But that didn’t stop him from listening carefully, nodding his understanding - he was familiar with the concept, or at least, enough to be impressed with what the other wizard was attempting. “That’s amazing,” he commented, not concerned in the least about coming across as overly interested. “The potions that call for _shakkan_ roots tend to be less complex versions of more intricate ones, because of the inherent magic in that one ingredient. But because they’re so hard to get a hold of, people just go with the more complicated version, and then there’s greater room for error in the making of it.” Catching his mouth running away without him again, Draco took a breath before concluding a bit lamely, “You probably already knew all of that though.” He took another sip from his glass, wondering if he was just doomed to look like a perpetual jackass in front of this man.

Neville flushed, feeling just as foolish. “Of course _you’d_ know,” he said, shaking his head. “I forgot you were good at potions. I spent most of those lessons either trying not to blow myself up or have Snape do it for me.” His mouth twitched. “If I _managed_ it, it would be amazing,” he countered, turning his glass around in his hand and watching the fruity liquid swirl from one side to the other, leaving a thin residue on the inside. “So far it’s basically just a small tree. Sometimes I think it might be working, because I could work on it all night and not feel tired at all, afterwards, like it’s giving me strength.” He caught himself and laughed off this absurd claim. “But that’s probably my imagination.” 

That flush of color in the other man’s cheeks caught Draco’s attention, though he had no idea what might have caused such a reaction. He shrugged slightly. because he couldn’t deny that he’d been decent at potions, and that he did remember just how bad Neville himself had been in that class. His incompetence was practically legendary. Keeping his eyes on Neville’s face while he swirled the liquid in his glass, he paid more attention to the sound of the man’s laugh than anything else. Rather than argue with the man about his own project, Draco just said, “Well, I wish you the best of luck with it.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw one of the children sneaking around a table in a decidedly guilty manner. Taking a guess, Draco fixed the boy with a glare as he said, “Mika. Good try, put it back.” The child in question, about nine years old, froze, pouted at him briefly, and then slunk back in the direction he’d come from. Draco kept an eye on him for a moment before returning his gaze to the man in front of him. “Sorry,” he offered for the interruption, a little sheepish. 

Neville knew from Hermione that Malfoy had been helping directly with the children she looked after, but perhaps he hadn’t quite made the connection between Malfoy and actual small humans. In Neville’s experience, children obeyed adults either out of respect or fear; he was pleased to see that the child looked far from frightened as he trudged reluctantly back to one of the tables to return the stolen decoration. “You’re good at this,” he observed aloud, without really thinking. “Working with kids, I mean. Do you like it, too, or is it just some kind of obligation?” 

Draco felt his ears burn at that compliment, ducking his head shyly for just a moment. “It just sort of happened, at first,” he admitted with a small shrug. He had a moment to hope that perhaps he could get away without Longbottom seeing him interact any further with the kids - any respect he might have gained from this man would probably disappear if he saw him acting like an idiot with any of them, something they tended to draw out of him more than he would like to admit. “But they’re good kids, and I enjoy working with them. Even though sometimes I kind of feel like I’m in over my head,” he added, hiding slightly behind his glass by taking another sip of champagne.

If anyone knew about things ‘just happening’, it would be Neville; he had not after all planned to be an Auror until the job was unceremoniously dumped in his lap. So that part didn’t seem strange, but he had never imagined Malfoy as the sort to enjoy interacting with children. He could only assume that Malfoy had been raised similar to the way he had - as disturbing as that thought was - as an only child, the heir to a significant fortune and a preeminent name, with more focus on responsibility and less on a loving, supportive family atmosphere the likes of which he was jealous of in the Weasleys. On the other hand, he had never thought Malfoy could get over his nonsensical bigotry far enough to become friends with Hermione either, so maybe he needed to stop making assumptions about people. 

Neville himself had zero experience with young children, having never even been around a child since he had been one himself, with the occasional exception of Harry’s godson Teddy, who was in any case still too young to hold a conversation. 

“Hermione ah… told me about the zoo,” he admitted, his lips twitching at that amusing mental image. “Had you really never been before?” 

“Of course she did,” Draco commented with a small smirk and a half-hearted roll of his eyes, but he couldn’t really bring himself to be surprised or even annoyed. In her shoes, he probably would have laughed himself sick too. “And no, I hadn’t,” he admitted, because it wasn’t as though Longbottom’s opinion of him could get worse, at this point. At least, that was what he figured, even if he wasn’t exactly happy about that. He probably didn’t need to get a refill of his glass, but something about this man had him off-balance in a way that was unusual for him, and Draco wasn’t sure how to get back on level ground. “It wasn’t what I was expecting,” he concluded, though if pressed, he wouldn't be able to explain what he had thought it would be. 

“Look, I get it,” Neville chuckled. “I didn’t do a lot of normal kid stuff either. Fortunately my Gran was into educational outings, so we did go to the zoo - I was about eight. She wouldn’t let me go right up to the cages though. Probably a good idea, now I think about it.” He finished his own glass and turned it idly between his fingers. “You ever wish you could have done the rest of it?” he asked, wistfully. He didn’t know if it was the ball, the conversation, or a combination of both, but the whole thing was bringing up some childhood memories he had all but forgotten. “You know… going to real school, falling over in the playground, proper birthday parties with games and things, not the kind where they shoved us into our best clothes and made us unwrap gifts without tearing the paper?”

Draco had a moment of cognitive dissonance listening to Neville perfectly describe his own childhood, despite the fact that he was certain they’d had very minimal contact before Hogwarts. He was struck very suddenly by the thought that perhaps there were more similarities between them than he’d ever considered before, which was… intriguing, to say the least. 

“Sometimes,” he admitted, the bout of honesty coming from somewhere he couldn’t quite identify, but he wasn’t about to argue with it when he was having probably the best conversation he would all night. “But I don’t know who I’d be if I’d had those types of things growing up.” Belatedly, Draco glanced up to make sure his mother wasn’t in hearing range - he would have hated to have inadvertently upset her, if she overheard any of this. Thankfully, she was on the other side of the room still, engaged in conversation with someone who looked to be a Ministry official that he vaguely recognized from these sorts of events. “Maybe it would have been better. Maybe _I_ would have been,” Draco admitted, feeling a blush burning at the tips of his ears again. 

Neville looked up at him and their eyes met. He felt a strange short of heaviness in the pit of his stomach he couldn’t place. “Well,” he said, awkwardly. “I’m sure _I_ would have been more of a stable eleven year old,” he said, shrugging, and forced his eyes away. “Maybe we even could have been friends. I mean, you’d have had to have been a _lot_ less of a -” 

He stopped, because something extremely concerning had just caught the corner of his eye - his Gran was heading in their direction from across the room, accompanied by an unfamiliar woman in a pale peach dress which was a poor choice for her ample figure. They were looking in his direction, and the look in the woman’s eye was nothing short of predatory. 

The sudden change in Longbottom’s demeanor was impossible to miss, and for half a heartbeat, Draco was concerned he’d somehow messed up without even speaking - so it was something of a relief when he followed Neville’s eyeline and saw what the actual cause of it was.

“Bollocks,” Neville groaned. He gave Draco a pleading look. “Don’t suppose you know a good hiding place around here?” he asked, only half-joking. 

Draco didn’t even have to consider it - given the way the man was acting, and the recent realisation about their similarities, Draco could easily figure out what was going on. Even if he hadn’t felt obligated to Longbottom for saving his life, he wasn’t about to abandon him to deal with a matron seeking to marry him off, not when he himself avoided those like the plague. “Men’s room is directly behind you, second door on the left,” he offered, “I’ll handle Mrs. MacNamara.”

“Seriously?” Neville’s eyes widened in surprised gratitude. “I mean, yeah, okay… thanks. I’ll, um... catch up with you later?” he added, putting his empty glass back down on the table. 

“No problem,” Draco reassured him, nodding at the last question and grinning victoriously at the implication in it. “Yeah. Now go, before you can’t,” he said, before turning around and taking the few steps forward to intercept the woman in question, not daring to look and see if the other man had removed himself from the area.

Neville fled.

He could only stay hidden for so long but fortunately he ran into Ernie McMillan, another heir to the Sacred Twenty-Eight family fortunes, and having not seen each other in a while they had a lot to catch up on. Ernie let him know how the rest of the Hufflepuffs were doing lately, and Neville managed to use him as a human shield to avoid further matchmaking. Ernie didn’t have to worry about such things, as he had promptly taken himself off the table by making a promise to a halfblood witch he had met over the summer in France. They weren’t engaged, by any means, but it was surprisingly effective in keeping mothers off of his back. “You should try it,” he said, when he noticed with amusement the way Neville kept ducking his head to avoid his grandmother’s gaze. “You don’t actually have to go through with it, you know, but once you’re off the market you can’t be sold.” 

Neville didn’t bother trying to hide his disgust at this particularly dehumanising phrase. “I’m good, thanks,” he muttered, downing his sixth or seventh glass of punch. He’d drunk rather a lot more than he had originally intended, and he was starting to get rather hot under his exquisitely stitched collar. 

He saw a flash of blond hair out of the corner of his eye and found himself following it; Malfoy was not far away, and it looked like he’d been cornered by a tall woman and two girls; one he vaguely recognised as one of the Slytherins from their year, and the other one could surely only be her sister. He gave Ernie a quick excuse and made his way over, thinking instinctively that he had the opportunity to repay the favour Draco had done him earlier in the night. 

“Pardon me,” he inserted himself into their conversation. The older girl - Greengrass, he thought - glared at him in undisguised distaste. “Malfoy, Hermione needs you for something,” he added to Draco directly, beckoning. “Official charity business.” 

Dealing with Mrs. MacNamara hadn’t been nearly as painful as it could have been, though Augusta Longbottom had been eyeing him suspiciously the entire time he’d been talking to the woman. Draco wasn’t sure if that boded well for him or for Neville, but he’d eventually managed to make his own escape, along with a promise of a hefty donation for the foundation. He tried to keep an eye out to see when Neville returned to the room- or if, maybe he’d just Apparated home from the bathroom, which actually wasn’t the worst idea ever - but he kept getting sidetracked by people who wanted to talk to him.

Most of those conversations were perfectly palatable, though Draco did manage to go through at least half a dozen glasses of champagne by the time he’d gotten cornered by the Greengrasses. Perhaps that wasn’t the best of times to be more than a little inebriated, because Daphne was like a shark with blood in the water for people with even slightly lowered inhibitions. He was reminded of why he’d chosen Pansy to be his beard during school, though she hadn’t been aware of it at the time - and why he’d tried to stay as far away from and off the Greengrasses’ radars for as long as possible. Astoria was the best of a bad bunch, but even she was practically impossible to dodge once she’d latched onto something - which, in this case, seemed to be _him._

Draco pounced on the opportunity Neville provided, without a single care if it was legitimate or not. Stepping away and walking at the other man’s side, he murmured a quiet but heartfelt, “Thanks,” into his ear as they moved further across the room. “You saved me again,” he commented with a small chuckle, and he was going to blame the alcohol for the way he couldn’t seem to to step back out of Neville’s personal space even though he knew he should.

“I owed you one,” Neville pointed out, grinning. If he’d been a little more sober he might have found the close proximity uncomfortable, but as it was he found himself rather enjoying being conspiratorial about escaping what others would have called their social obligations. “You too, huh? I swear coming single to one of these things is like jumping headfirst into a tank full of piranhas.” He rolled his eyes and reached up to adjust his collar; he wanted to undo at least a couple of the buttons, but years of elocution lessons had at least given him enough awareness to know that it would be highly inappropriate to do so in such a formal setting. He looked around for the door he had seen earlier which led outside. “Want to get some air?” he asked. “Safety in numbers?” 

Chuckling a little at that comparison, Draco nodded his agreement, keeping an eye out for anyone who might try to interrupt them. He was glad to see that they seemed to have a mostly clear path, though he was completely distracted from that line of thinking by the sight of Neville’s fingers at his own collar, which both caught his attention in full and managed to remind him suddenly of exactly how warm he was as well.

“That sounds like a great plan,” Draco said after an awkward moment when he’d just been staring. He’d blame the alcohol for that too, if he was questioned about it, but for the time being, he led the way towards the back corner of the room, and the escape to the balcony it provided.

The door having been closed was rather an indication that people were not invited onto the balcony, but Neville was too hot and too tipsy to care; they slipped through as unobtrusively as possible, and Neville took a deep, heavy breath of the cool, fresh air as they stepped out into a clear evening dotted with stars. “So much better,” he sighed happily, and went to the edge to look out over the grounds of the house, flicking open the offending fastenings as he went and leaving his throat open to the air. He leaned his elbows on the balustrade as Draco came up beside him.

Neville wasn’t looking in his direction, wasn’t even facing him, so Draco let his eyes lock onto where the other man was unbuttoning his collar. There was something fascinating about it, beyond just the impropriety of it, which Draco also found intriguing. It had him frozen for a few long moments, until he was brought back to the present by the change in the man’s posture, and he stepped up to stand next to him without even thinking about it. 

“Oh,” Neville said, realising suddenly as the other man laid a delicate hand on the stone surface. “I forgot to ask about your wrists. I guess your hands are still attached, though, so…” 

Draco chuckled at that statement, nodding as he stated, “They’re fine now. A little bit of scarring, but nothing that interferes with my range of motion.” He turned around, leaning back against the stone as he tilted his head to the side and asked, “And how about you? All recovered with no issues?”

Neville made a face. “Oh, that. That was nothing to the whipping I got in training for the next month. The senior Aurors swap out on instructing the rookies, and I swear Featherstone signed up for double shifts just so he could torture me.” He snorted. “The number of times I had to stop myself telling him he’d got a bit of work to do if he wanted to match up to the Carrows… mind you there were days when I practically had to be levitated out of bed in the morning. But what doesn’t kill you, right?” He shrugged and smiled, to show he didn’t hold any grudges - about that, at least. 

The casual way Neville was able to speak of his own torture - quite literally, Draco was aware of that even if he hadn’t been personally subjected to it at Hogwarts - struck him sharply, and he was amazed all over again at the strength of the man standing next to him. “There were times I woke up wishing it _had_ killed me,” Draco admitted softly, staring up at the stars. “Or when I wondered how I could possibly make it through another day.”

Neville looked up sharply, staring. He hadn’t expected Malfoy to saying anything so personal, and to him, especially. He wondered if he was talking about the barn, over the summer, or last year - the war. Or both. For a long, painful moment, he didn’t know what to say. “But it didn’t,” he managed, finally. “I mean… look where you are now. Anyone talking to you for more than a minute could tell that you’ve changed. Not everyone would be capable of that. I think it’s… that is… I’m honestly impressed. It’d be a real shame if you’d never got the chance to try being a decent person.” He tried another smile, in an attempt to lighten the mood. His head swam a little.

In that brief silence, Draco wondered if he’d gone too far, said too much, his tongue too loosened by the champagne and the cool night air and Neville himself. He felt his ears burn once again as he listened to the other man, hoping it was dark enough that it wouldn’t be noticed, or that he could attribute that to the alcohol as well. It was impossible not to look at Neville when he said he was impressed, needing to see if he was just saying that - though even the thought of that went against the grain of everything he knew about this man. Returning the smile with a small one of his own, Draco said softly, “Thanks. It’s easier than I thought it would be, not being a… a git, all the time. Well, mostly easier. Except when dealing with idiots.” He smirked a little at the end to show that he was teasing, or at least, wasn’t entirely serious. 

Neville nodded. “I expect convincing people would be the most difficult part. You can’t bond with _everyone_ by rescuing each other under fire.” He grinned and ran a hand through his curls, messing them up again after Augusta had made him brush them into order three times. For some reason his hair behaved much more like his father’s, now, when up until the age of about sixteen it had sat rather flat. 

“As nice as this is, I don’t think I’d like to repeat the experience,” Draco agreed with a grin of his own. Anything else he was going to say got caught in his throat as he watched Neville ruffle up his own hair, and he had to clench his own hand into a light fist to help fight the sudden urge to reach out and repeat the motion with his own fingers. _Oh dear._

Neville laughed. “You’ll know you’ve really made it if you can shake Ron’s hand. Properly I mean, not just because he thinks he has to.” 

Snorting lightly at that, Draco commented, “I’m amazed he hasn’t hexed me yet just for spending too much time in Hermione’s vicinity.” 

As if summoned by just the mention of her name, the witch in question popped her head out of the door at that same moment, which Draco found a little eerie. 

“There you two are,” she commented, and Draco was immediately wary of the sharp look in her eye as she spoke to them. “People are starting to wonder where you’ve disappeared to,” she warned, and then left again as quickly as she’d arrived. 

Neville groaned dramatically and stood up properly. “Time to spend some of grandfather’s money and make a quick exit,” he said. He was surprised to find that he was rather reluctant to leave, not just because he didn’t want to go back to the stifling glitter of the ballroom, but he’d actually been enjoying their conversation. Well, maybe enjoyment was the wrong word, but he was certainly interested to discover that he and Malfoy appeared to have so much in common. It was something he hadn’t thought about in that light before. Ron and Harry were good mates, but they didn’t understand about things like upholding a family name, or avoiding the clutches of matchmaking mothers. And they were closer to each other, and to Hermione and Ginny than they probably would ever be with him. Ginny was probably his best friend, but that wasn’t really the same. Anyway she spent most of her free time with Harry, when she wasn’t flying around on a damn broomstick, and while he understood, it did get lonely sometimes. He didn’t think he’d realised quite how lonely, until now. 

“My jealousy knows no bounds,” Draco said teasingly, though he wasn’t at all serious. Well, perhaps a little, but he didn’t begrudge Neville for leaving when he could. As much fun as he was unexpectedly having, maybe the interruption was a good thing, at least as a reminder that he couldn’t get too drawn into this right now. But maybe later, some other time… Draco paused that line of thinking, telling himself to revisit it in the light of day when he was sober and less prone to fits of unrealistic optimism. “I hope your evening wasn’t all terrible,” he allowed himself to say, a hopeful sort of grin on his face as he stood up, straightening his cuffs to get ready to head back inside.

“Not at all,” Neville said, a little too quickly, and hesitated for a moment before chuckling at his own awkwardness. That response had Draco smirking again, just a little smug. “It was… good seeing you again,” he added, more politely. 

“You as well,” Draco said with a small nod.

Neville started towards the door and then remembered the loose flapping collar of his robes. “Damnnit,” he muttered, going to do up the buttons, but it was practically impossible to do it backwards without a mirror, and particularly not after several glasses of wine. They were too small and too fiddly and he couldn’t even see them. Sighing, he gave Draco a pleading look. “Would you…?” 

Draco rather felt like he’d been hit in the face with some sort of jinx, with that look, and found himself nodding almost numbly. He took a deep breath as he took a step forward, reaching up tentatively for the buttons in question. His fingers didn’t tremble, which he was grateful for, and he managed to keep his eyes on what his hands were doing, even if he was terribly distracted by the heat coming off Neville’s body and the faint hint of his scent invading Draco’s senses. It seemed to take both far longer than it should and no time at all for him to have the other man presentable again, and without really thinking about it, Draco smoothed his hand over the buttons once, right over the center of Neville’s chest, before he realized what he was doing and pulled his hand away. “Good as new,” he said, his voice a little rougher than it should have been, and Draco cleared his throat as he looked up to meet the other man’s eyes again.

Neville was the first to admit that he was clueless about a lot of things, but even he noticed Draco’s fingers lingering just a little too long, almost in the way his Gran might have while helping him dress, but _that_ had never made his heart jump a little in his chest the way this did, particularly when Draco stood back and Neville saw the flush of pink in his pale cheeks, visible in the warm light from the open door. He told himself firmly that Malfoy was probably just perfectionist about clothing, but that didn’t seem right, somehow. 

“Thanks,” he said, with an edge of confusion to his voice almost equal to Malfoy’s own. Suddenly he was quite keen to go, before he said or did anything else that might make things more uncomfortable than they already were. He put a hand on the door; belatedly he realised his Gran was probably looking for him, and he had disappeared with the same person who had ‘kidnapped’ him the last time he was missing. Probably best that he find her before she sent out a literal search party. “See you round then… Draco,” he said, and ducked away as quickly as he could, without making his escape too obvious. 


	4. St. Mungo’s

St. Mungo’s was not, thankfully, somewhere Draco had ever spent much time. But under the circumstances, he wasn’t about to take any chances, and all things considered, it was better that he was here than still being back where everything had gone wrong. Madison hiccupped a small cry into his shoulder, and he ran a hand reassuringly over her back as he looked over the list of floors, trying to figure out exactly where he needed to go. “You'll be okay,” he murmured to her, his eyes flicking up and down rapidly without much comprehension, while other people swept by without a care for anything other than their own problems.

The day had started out relatively normal enough. He, along with Hermione and a small handful of other volunteers, had picked up some of the children from the Foundation building in the morning. The trip to Diagon Alley was smooth, far smoother than a dozen kids and half a dozen adults should have been, and for the first few stops, there hadn’t been any trouble at all. And then they’d gotten to the Weasley joke shop, which Draco had been opposed to from the beginning if only because of the utter chaos that had, of course, ensued pretty much as soon as they’d walked in. 

Keeping an eye on exactly what-all each of the children was getting into had been practically impossible. Draco was paranoid to begin with, no matter what Hermione’s assurances had been about how safe everything was, but he’d managed to control his startle reflex for all the noise of sudden pops and bangs, or the bright colors that appeared out of nowhere. Even the shrieks of the children had been mostly okay - at least, until there was one of actual pain that carried above all the others.

Draco was well aware that he wasn’t supposed to have favourites among the children they worked with, but five-year-old Madison Avery had wormed her way to the top of that secret list very early on. Her father was in Azkaban with a life sentence for the things he’d done during the second war - one of the Death Eaters that Draco had testified against - and her mother had commited suicide not long after his sentencing. Maddie didn’t speak very much in general, so when she had screamed bloody murder earlier, Draco had, understandably, in his opinion, not stayed quite as calm as he probably should have. 

Somehow, the small masks that were supposed to just change the color of one’s hair for an hour had resulted in small scabs that looked more like scales popping up across Madison’s skin. He still hadn’t gotten a good answer on whether or not they actually  _ hurt _ , but Draco was taking that she was no longer screaming uncontrollably as a good sign. Drawn back to the moment by the way the little girl tried to curl in closer, he sighed as he read through the boards again, moving forward to press the button for the elevator once he was mostly sure he knew where he was going.

Neville, on the other hand, had been a weekly visitor to St. Mungo’s (outside of term time) for as long as he could remember, which meant he knew the place as well as the back of his hand. He knew the Healers, the trainees, and even some of the long-term or regular patients. The witch at reception didn’t even bother to sign him in anymore, only waved him through. He didn’t like it there, exactly, but no one who hadn’t always wanted to be sticking their hands inside people really  _ liked _ hospitals. He was perhaps more comfortable there than the average visitor, who were usually perturbed at least by the occasional blood-curdling scream or ghost having an existential crisis by flying full-pelt through the walls from one side of the building to the other.

None of this, however, prepared him for an unusual event during an otherwise perfectly routine Sunday visit; the elevator doors opening onto the ground floor to reveal Draco Malfoy holding a small child. 

It had been about a month since their last meeting, and if he’d been disappointed not to run into him again straight away, there was plenty enough going on at work to distract him, and he could hardly blame Malfoy for avoiding the Ministry, under the circumstances. But of course he hadn’t been - disappointed - or at least, so he told himself. “Er… hi?” he said, waving directly in Malfoy’s face, since he seemed to be somewhat distracted. “What are you doing here? Everything okay?” 

Seeing Neville Longbottom right now had not been something Draco felt he could have prepared for. After that last encounter, Draco had woken up feeling like something monumental had changed, which some self-reflection had revealed to really be just the inconvenient development of a delayed type of teenage crush that had him burying himself under his blankets for an extra few hours. He’d played it off as sleeping off a hangover instead of the minor emotional crisis it had felt like - he’d long been accustomed to liking boys, but it never been as all-encompassing as this seemed to be, beyond just a physical attraction. It had felt like something of a relief that he hadn’t been subjected to being in the man’s presence for a few weeks, while he adjusted to these newfound emotions and let them settle.

Even with Madison on his shoulder and all the responsibility implicit in the weight of her there, Draco still found himself struck dumb at the sight of Neville in front of him, and he was hit with the reminder of all the feeling he had tangled up in the back of his brain. “Um… hi,” he returned awkwardly, trying to refocus himself on the present and what needed to be done. “We had a… slight incident at the joke shop,” he offered an explanation, hoping not to upset Maddie too much, who had turned her head to look at who he was talking to. “So, here we are, so the Healers can get everything fixed and back to normal,” he added, solely for her benefit.

Neville took in the strange discolouration on the child’s face, and nodded. “Spell damage,” he said, and hit the button for the fourth floor without stepping out of the lift. The door closed behind them and the aging contraption started creaking slowly upwards. He wanted to ask what had happened- the injury looked unusual - but he could tell Malfoy was on edge trying to keep the little girl calm, so he just smiled at her. “They’re very good Healers here,” he assured her. “I hurt myself all the time when I was your age, and they managed to fix me every time.” 

If he’d had a bit more attention to spare, Draco might have questioned how Neville knew that right off the top of his head - but at the moment, getting to the correct destination seemed like a higher priority. He felt Maddie’s tiny fingers tighten around the fabric of his robes as the elevator creaked and rose, but she actually lifted her head entirely off his shoulder when the other man started speaking to her. 

“You did?” Madison asked quietly, which surprised Draco more than anything - it had taken him three weeks to get a single word out of the little girl, but he was not about to point out the oddness of this, especially since she didn’t sound like she was in pain as she spoke. He wasn’t sure what his face was doing at the moment, but he tried to school it into something resembling normalcy, just in case she turned to look at him instead. 

Neville didn’t really have the habit of speaking down to small children as some people were wont to do; his Gran had always been as frank with him as though he were an adult, even when his Grandfather had died. He therefore answered Madison easily without bothering to adjust his language for her benefit, while she listened with wide eyes. “Did I ever,” he grinned, and started counting off on his fingers. “Lessee.. Three years old, I stuck my hand in a pot of boiling water, at four I stumbled into a patch of Bumblebee Nettles - nasty, that - at five… um… oh yeah, at five my Great Uncle literally threw me off the pier into the ocean, I almost drowned, plus hypothermia. The next year broke the same arm twice trying to climb a big tree, nearly got my finger bitten off by a post owl… well, after that my tutor mostly managed to keep me in one piece, except the year I tried to make tea by myself and decided to pour some kind of potion in it… not sure what it was, but I ended up turning mostly blue. I also got dropped out of a window when I was eight, but I think my magic had had enough of me breaking things by then, so I didn’t get hurt. I bounced.” He motioned with his hands, mimicking a bouncing motion. “Like this: boingy boingy boing.” 

Draco’s eyes were just as wide as Madison’s as he listened to Neville’s casual list of childhood injuries. He’d broken a few bones himself, over the years, mostly because of flying, but some of the other man’s descriptions made him grimace, even though they were obviously from many years past. The little girl giggled at Neville’s final statement, which was a vast improvement over her stoic silence, at least. 

The elevator doors slid open before Draco needed to find something to say, which he was grateful for - until he realized that now he had to go deal with the hospital staff. He felt truly unprepared for such an ordeal, but it wasn’t as though he had any other choice. “Thanks,” he said rather dumbly to Neville, uncertain of both what else to say and which direction to head as he stepped off the lift. 

“No problem,” Neville said, realising with awkwardness that he’d ridden up in the lift unnecessarily, and would now either have to get out with them or go back down. Seeing the slightly panicked look on Draco’s face, he decided on the former. “Triage is over there,” he said, pointing. “C’mon, I’ll show you.” They went together to the desk where a plump witch was presiding over a large clipboard. Draco was a little confused by the ease with which Neville navigated the hospital, but maybe his clumsiness hadn’t fully evaporated over the years, and it wasn’t as though his job was completely danger-free. Besides, it wasn’t something he could ask about without it coming across rudely, which was one of the things he was actively trying to avoid. 

“Back so soon, dear?” the witch beamed up at Neville in confusion as they approached, before turning her attention to his companions. “What’s this?” she asked, standing up and leaning over the desk to see. 

“The little girl’s had a bit of an accident,” Neville explained, as the child turned her face quickly back into Draco’s robe. He smoothed one hand over her back again, the motion almost automatic as he tried to wordlessly reassure her that everything would be fine.

“Oh, you poor poppet,” the woman exclaimed. She had only gotten a quick glance, but it seemed to be enough; she scribbled a quick note on her parchment. “Better go and see Healer Redson in room four. Go on, she’s not busy. It’ll be a couple weeks before the Christmas insanity starts.” 

“Cheers Liv,” Neville waved as they moved past the desk. “Four - that’s down this way,” he motioned. 

Draco followed without question, struck once again by Neville’s familiarity with the place. He was intensely curious, but ignored the desire to give voice to any of the questions forming in his mind, and stuck to another, “Thanks.” He halfway expected the other man to take his leave as they arrived at the triage room, and another plump witch in green robes motioned them inside with one hand.

“Well, what have we here?” she asked, and Draco explained what had happened as she started her exam - thankfully without needing him to set Madison down, which he was sure would have started another round of tears. She hummed her understanding of his story, tapping gently at Maddie’s skin in odd places - her elbow, the tip of her nose - with the tip of her wand. 

“Alright,” the Healer said after a few long moments. “Take a seat in room seven, and someone will be with you shortly.”

Neville knew it was a bit weird that he was still there, but on the other hand it felt like it would have been even more awkward to leave up until now. Room seven though was only a few doors down from where they were; all he had to do was point it out. “You ah… want me to hang around?” he asked Draco, figuring it’d be best to make sure he wasn’t sticking around where he wasn’t wanted. “I’m not busy or anything, if you want company, but if you’d rather…” 

The offer was surprising, but there was no way that Draco was going to be able to turn down the opportunity to spend time in Neville’s presence. “I mean, if you don’t mind…” he replied, and then chuckled rather humorlessly. “This can’t be how you’d prefer to be spending a Sunday afternoon.”

“I don’t mind,” Neville said, surprised to find that he meant it, given that it was already how he had spent his Sunday morning. This was different though, since at least Draco would carry on his own half of a conversation. Besides, he looked a little lost, and somehow that made him want to help, as much as he could. 

Room seven was a small treatment room with a bed and a couple of chairs. Sitting down was something of a relief for Draco - Madison wasn’t exactly heavy, but it was nice to be able to relax somewhat. He was more grateful for Neville’s company than he could really say, even leaving aside his own tentative giddiness at getting to spend any time with the him, even with the circumstances being what they were. 

“Is she okay?” Neville asked in an undertone, frowning a little. It seemed strange that the little child was so quiet, but again, he didn’t know much about children. 

Draco nodded in response to the question, but just to make sure he tilted back and down slightly to get as much of a view of her face as possible as he asked, “You doing alright, Maddie?”

Her nod was something he felt more than saw, with how close she was still tucked against him, but it was a good enough answer for now. “Can you say hi?” Draco ventured, chuckling a little when she decided to wave in lieu of an actual answer. “She’s a little shy,” he offered to Neville with a small, apologetic shrug of the shoulder she wasn’t lying on. 

“I see that,” Neville said, his lips twitching with sympathetic amusement. “I’m sure it’s an easy fix,” he added. “I bet it’s some kind of allergy; no way the Weasleys would make anything that could accidentally hurt a kid.” He was no Healer, far from it, but he was sure enough about George to make an easy assumption. “She’ll be okay.” 

_ ‘I hope so’ _ wasn’t an answer he could give within Madison’s hearing, so Draco just nodded instead. “That would make the most sense,” he agreed. “And would probably be the fastest resolution.” Something about that statement had Maddie sitting straight up, and Draco blinked in wary confusion as she stared at him. 

“What about ice cream?” she asked, quiet but intent, like whatever his answer was had the possibility of changing her entire life. 

“If we miss ice cream with everyone else, we’ll go anyway,” Draco promised, because there was no way he’d take that away from her after having to go through this whole experience. 

Neville found himself watching the two of them with a sort of bemused, fascinated look on his face. Seeing Malfoy with a kid, holding her, comforting her as though he were her parent… it went against everything he had ever seen, heard or thought about him in the past. He had already started to rethink Malfoy as a person anyway, but this was a whole different level; kind, and caring, the sort of thing he hadn’t imagined him even capable of. 

“Hello there,” said a familiar voice as a different Healer, fat, white-haired and bespectacled, came through the door. He had always reminded Neville of the Muggle imagery of Santa Claus, except that he was always wearing green. “I hear we had a little accident in a joke shop,” he said in his rumbling voice, peering down at the little girl with kind eyes. 

Draco had gotten a glimpse of Neville’s face, just enough to be briefly concerned once again about what the man thought of him, before the Healer entering the room captured the majority of Draco’s attention. Shaking the offered hand almost automatically, he nodded as he said, “Something like that.” 

“Let’s see what we can do about it. Healer Joseph Pucklechurch,” he announced, reaching over to shake Draco’s free hand. “You can call me Joe.” He gave Neville an enquiring look. Neville, who had known the man since he himself was younger than Madison, shrugged. “Shall we have a little look, then?” 

Maddie had shrunk back against him when a new stranger had arrived, and was eyeing him warily as he got closer. “May I see?” Healer Pucklechurch asked her directly, one hand extended. She glanced up at Draco again, and when he nodded, she put one arm out shyly in return. “Thank you very much,” the man said with a congenial smile, running the tip of one finger over the reaction on her arm, and then following it with his wand. “Dearie me,” he said, beaming at her. “It appears somebody has an allergy to transfigurative magic. Stings a bit, does it?” 

Madison nodded her head emphatically. 

“Told you,” Neville said to Draco, rather pleased with himself. Draco halfway rolled his eyes, but the hint of a smile at the corner of his lips offset the gesture entirely, and then he was paying attention to the Healer instead.

“An uncommon condition, but they usually grow out of it by the time they’re ten or so,” Joe said, reassuringly. “There are tests we can do before she starts Hogwarts, to make sure it’s not an issue. Now,” he turned back to Madison, eyes twinkling. “I’m going to give you a little potion, you’ll go to sleep for a little while and when you wake up it’ll be all better.”

Letting out a small sigh of relief, Draco nodded his understanding, feeling another wave of relief as Maddie imitated him. “I’ll be right back.” the Healer informed them, leaving the room without any further fuss. Reaching up with one hand, Draco ran his fingers through his hair briefly, glad that he hadn’t bothered with doing much with it before leaving the house this morning.

He looked down when the little girl tugged on his robes, chuckling when she asked again, “Ice cream now?”

“After your nap.” Draco said, pursing his lips together in order to not laugh at the pout that answer brought about. “You’ll be asleep before you know it, and when you wake up, then we can go,” he informed her, managing to keep a mostly straight face. 

Neville also had to press his lips hard together to stop himself laughing. He didn’t know how she would take to him laughing at her, but  _ he  _ certainly had never appreciated grown-ups chortling behind their hands whenever he said or did anything as a child, so he didn’t. Still, it was hard to look Draco in the eyes; he was pretty sure that would set them both off. He addressed the child instead. “Do you like ice cream? What’s your favourite flavour?” 

“Choc-lat,” Maddie answered immediately, nodding enthusiastically. “You?” she asked in return, leaning over in Neville’s direction slightly without leaving Draco’s hold in the least. Before he got a chance to answer, the door opened again, allowing the Healer to reenter the room. The vial in his hand looked a lot smaller than Draco would have expected, but he supposed that given Maddie’s smaller size, the proportion made sense. 

“Here we go,” Joe announced, waving the vial tantalisingly as though it was a tasty treat. “How about you drink this up in one go? I bet you can.” 

He held out the vial, and Madison took it rather doubtfully in her fingers. At Draco’s encouraging nod, she tipped it into her mouth. It was only one small swallow. 

“Bleh,” she said, making a face, but before she had time to get upset at the taste, her eyelids were drooping, and she went limp against Draco’s chest. 

“The sleep is a side effect of the healing, but it comes in handy,” Joe said, chuckling. “Just put her on the bed there, it’ll take about an hour.” 

While Draco got up to lay the sleeping child on the crisp white hospital sheets, the Healer gave Neville another searching look, as though trying to figure out what he was doing there. “Thanks, Joe,” Neville said, by way of avoiding having to answer any questions to which the answers might be difficult to phrase properly in front of Malfoy. 

“Not at all.” Joe stood up. “Come and find me if there are any problems, but I should be back before she wakes up.” He hesitated, hand on the door handle. “By the by, Neville, since you’re here… I’ve been meaning to have a conversation with you and your Grandmother… nothing urgent, only some long-term planning that needs a bit of an update now that you’re the first contact.” 

Maddie curled up on her side as soon as Draco laid her down. He pulled the blanket up over her shoulders and smoothed her hair back from her face, trying to ignore the conversation behind him. It was difficult when that was the only sound in the room though, so he kept his head down and minded his own business even if he couldn’t help overhearing. 

Neville held back a grimace. He couldn’t complain about it, of course, but he had expected the change of contact not to make any difference. He would hardly make any decisions about his parents’ care without his Gran’s approval. Her decision to put him nominally in charge was just another of her not-too-subtle hints that he needed to take responsibility for continuing the family line. “Perhaps you could both come and see me before your next visit,” Joe continued, “same time next week, perhaps.” 

Neville nodded shortly, trying to keep his voice polite. “Yes, of course. I’ll tell her.” 

“Wonderful. Very well… don’t be afraid to make yourselves at home. You know where everything is,” he added to Neville in particular, giving him a wink before leaving the room once again. 

There was a tea tray on the end table next to the bed, which Draco set to heating and then levitated over to the other side of the room. Setting it town on the small table between the two chairs they’d been in earlier, he took his seat again, glancing over at where Maddie was sleeping before going about making tea. He didn’t ask if Neville wanted any - if he’d been raised with the same Pureblood traditions Draco had been, he would have been required to agree for politeness’ sake. The last thing Draco wanted was to force any reaction out of him, especially if there was even the slightest chance it might not be genuine.

“You’re very familiar with this place,” Draco commented, more of an observation than a question. “I appreciate all the help.” He probably would have been a lot more of an undignified mess than he currently was if he’d had to handle all of this on his own, which he was well aware didn’t speak highly of his skills.

“Yeah. Well. Like I said, I’m here a lot,” Neville replied, noncommittally. While he and Malfoy might have come a long way already to reconciling their childhood differences, there were certain things he wasn’t comfortable talking about with almost anyone, unless he had to. Particularly not with a direct relative of some of the people responsible. He tried not to dwell on that too long, covering his confusion by pouring a cup for himself. “How’ve you been?” he asked instead, nursing the cup’s comforting warmth between his fingers. 

Draco could recognize a deflection like that easily enough, so he didn’t push the matter - that seemed like a guaranteed way to sour whatever tentative truce-type thing he and Longbottom had established. He was struck very suddenly with the memory of buttoning up the man’s collar, and the lack of distance between them at the time. Pushing that thought away, he curled his fingers around his own teacup as he shrugged slightly. “Not bad, all things considered,” he responded. “Helping Hermione plan another fundraiser event next month, which is shaping up to be even more extravagant than the last.” 

Neville let out a dramatic groan and flopped theatrically in his chair. “ _ Why  _ would you do that to me?” he sighed heavily. “What are you doing, one every season? At least just make it an annual thing.” He realised his aversion to observing social niceties might come off as pretty childish, but he would almost certainly be forced to go, which didn’t seem at all fair when Harry, who as far as Neville knew was actually richer than he was, seemed to be able to get out of it. Then again Harry didn’t have a busybody grandmother dictating what  _ he  _ did. 

Smirking widely at that reaction, if only because it had matched his own feelings on the matter, Draco chuckled as he replied, “That’s what I’ve been trying to convince her of. But I don’t have to tell you that she’s stubborn when she gets an idea in her head.”

“Not that it’s not a worthwhile cause, but is a party really necessary? I could just give you some money. Or, you want some property?” Neville suggested, flippantly. “Pretty sure I’ve got some lying around that I’m not using. You could turn it into a Home, or a school, or a summer camp, or something.” 

Draco couldn’t help the way one eyebrow quirked up at that offer, and the tone of the man’s voice. There was something… less polite about it, more familiar, that had Draco even more intrigued. “I am pushing for a summer Quidditch camp type of thing,” he commented. “We’ll see what comes of it,” Draco finished with another shrug, taking a sip of his tea even though his eyes were still locked on the other man across the table. 

“Well, you’re welcome to it,” Neville said. The more he thought about it the more he liked the idea; his Gran would be annoyed, but that was what she got for making him take on the estate. If it was his, he could do what he liked with it. He liked to think his father would have approved. 

“Hopefully someone else will like the idea as much as you do,” Draco teased very lightly, before going serious again to say, “thanks.” He was pretty sure he’d said that more to this man in the last six months that he had to anyone in the last six years.

Neville sipped his tea, mimicking Draco’s movements without realising. “She seems to have taken to you,” he added, tipping his head in the little girl’s direction.

Draco felt his ears flush at that statement, looking back at the bed where she was sleeping soundly. “Maddie’s very sweet,” he said softly, chuckling in a slightly self-deprecating manner as he admitted, “And I have no idea why she latched onto me.” 

“Kids,” Neville joked, rolling his eyes. “No taste whatsoever.”

A startled laugh escaped Draco at that, and he found himself enamored all over again with this sudden, unexpected side of the former Gryffindor. “And what does that say about you, that you’re still sitting here with me?” he asked, smirking over the rim of his cup. 

Neville laughed too, at that. “Point,” he said, nodding agreement. “What can I say, this personality reversal of yours is interesting. I wouldn’t want to miss any of it.”

“I’m obviously doing something right if you think I’m interesting,” Draco replied, only realizing after the words had left his mouth that they could almost be considered flirtatious. And as much as he might want to flirt with Neville Longbottom - something his younger self would have never have considered - he was also extremely wary about scaring the man off by saying the wrong thing.

Neville looked up, amused. “Well, you weren’t ever  _ boring _ ,” he admitted, tilting his head to one side as he considered. “I just hated you,” he added, deciding that there was no point in being coy; they both knew it, after all. He drained his cup and filled it again. “I think I prefer it this way… even if I’m not quite sure what to make of you, sometimes.” He shook his head. “You have to admit that if you saw all this in a crystal ball a few years ago, you’d think it was broken.” 

Draco preferred this as well, nodding his agreement to that statement even as he listened closely. “I don’t think anyone could have predicted any of this a few years ago,” he said, gesturing around at the room as a whole. Between Maddie on the bed, and the more-than-civil conversation they were having, it felt like an entirely different universe from who and where he’d been back in school.

“Exactly.” Neville smiled. “Yet another reason divination is useless.” He looked back at the little girl. The rash on her face was already fading. “So what’s her story?” he asked. He’d caught the name, while Draco gave the details to Healer Redson, but beyond recognising it as a Death Eater’s name, he knew very little else.

The question felt like it came out of nowhere, but Draco could also understand why it was asked. “Maddie’s… as good as an orphan,” he started quietly, keeping his eyes on her sleeping as he spoke. “Her father’s in Azkaban, serving multiple life sentences. Her mother committed suicide shortly after his sentences were announced, and there was no immediate family to take her in.” It was, unfortunately, not an uncommon story among younger Pureblood children these days, which was part of the reason for his mother’s work with her foundation. 

Neville swore quietly, under his breath. “That’s awful,” he muttered. “So many kids who lost their parents in that stupid war - not to mention the one before...” He felt the unfairness of it like a heavy weight dragging down his heart. He was, after all, one of those children. And so was Harry, and Hannah Abbott, and Teddy… Teddy, he realised, who was Draco’s… cousin? That was confusing, but he’d never been one for genealogy, either. “I just hope… I hope it’s over now, y’know? That we don’t ever have to go through it all again. It’s the whole reason I agreed to join the Aurors. I’d never forgive myself if we had a whole ‘nother generation of this stupidness and I could have done something.” He sighed. “I don’t know though, sometimes it seems like the wrong way to go about it. What you and Hermione are doing… teaching kids not to be afraid of each other… that makes more sense. That might actually help end it all.”

“That’s the goal,” Draco agreed, nodding his head just a bit. “It’s easy to understand why it hasn’t been done before, I suppose,” he commented. “But it’s also been a lot easier to implement than I would have thought, which makes it harder to figure out why no one has tried. I guess maybe it needed to be now, and us, for it to work the way it needs to so that our past doesn’t become their future.” This conversation had somehow gotten very heavy very quickly, and he wasn’t sure what the right thing to say was. “Better now than never, I suppose,” he tried, a deliberate attempt to lighten the mood even slightly. 

“Mm.” Neville nodded, but it was hard to shake the sudden heaviness in his chest. Not with the Janus Thickey ward only just down the corridor. “Yeah. I hope so. Poor thing.” He bit his lip, watching Madison’s little chest rising up and down. Of course, dozens of the children of Muggleborns had also lost their parents at the hands of people like Avery, but that didn’t make this child’s situation any less sad. “Tell your mum - and Hermione - if they want a sponsor… I’ve really more money sitting around than I know what to do with. Gran never touched it - other than what she needed to raise me, I suppose - she says my grandfather’s money passed to my father, which means it’s mine, really, and I don’t need it.” He managed a small smile. “Anything to get out of those damn charity balls,” he said, though he couldn’t quite make it sound like a joke, this time.

Draco was pretty sure that Hermione would never take him up on that offer, but he nodded nonetheless, because it wasn’t as though he could refuse at this point in time. “I’ll see if your invitation can get mysteriously lost in the post,” he offered, a hint of a smile on his lips even though he was mostly serious in the offer itself. He busied himself with making another cup of tea, lest he forget himself and just stare over the table at Neville without actually saying anything. 

“How is your  _ shakkan _ coming along?” Draco asked, a blatant attempt to change the subject to something more lighthearted - but he didn’t think the other wizard was going to call him out on it.

“Oh.” Neville winced; he’d forgotten he’d even told Draco about that. “Pretty slow; I don’t have enough time to work on it as much as I’d like. Plus. You know. Growing things...” he shrugged, a faint smile on his face, “takes time. What I’d really like to do is have a few going at once, so I can experiment with different techniques and see what works best, but for that I’d need even  _ more  _ time, and a proper workshop…” he sighed. “Maybe one day.” 

Neville’s smile, even as small as it was, caught at something in Draco’s chest, and for a moment he couldn’t even breathe, he was so distracted by it. Before he was really aware of the words coming out of his mouth, he heard himself offering, “Well, I can’t help with the time, but if you ever need space, technically the roof is part of my flat lease. You could set something up there if you wanted.” 

Neville raised a surprised eyebrow. “Yeah?” Technically, he thought, it wasn’t like he  _ needed  _ to encroach on Draco’s space, after all he could buy any space he wanted, if he really needed it. Somehow however, the offer itself was touching. A proper olive branch. “Well… I’ll think about it,” he said, somewhat awkwardly. “Thanks. I ah… expect you’re a bit more moved in now than you were last time I was there?” He smiled sheepishly. “I hope you got a new mattress.”

Draco would have been amazed - and maybe a little skeptical - if Neville had accepted on the spot. Chuckling a little at that assumption, he nodded both to it and the question. “I am, and I did,” he confirmed, biting down on an offer for the man to come see for himself. “I’m not spending much time there other than to sleep anyway, so other than that, it’s a little… spartan,” he added, not sure why he was sharing that. 

“Why not?” Neville asked. “If I had my own place I’d be there as much as I could. Not that I’d suggest it… I’m pretty sure Gran’d be really offended.”

Shrugging again, Draco answered, “If I’m not working at the shop, then I’m doing foundation work, or I’m out being social in a way that benefits the foundation work. Basically, if I’m awake, I’m not at home.” Which was fine, most days, but sometimes - like now - he got hit with a sense of nearly overwhelming exhaustion, when he just wanted to crawl into bed for a day or two and decompress. 

“Well, I know that feeling,” Neville agreed, sympathetic. “Sounds like you need a holiday about as much as I do.” He had now drunk two cups of tea, and a third one seemed excessive, so he put the cup down and stuffed his hands into his lap instead. “Looks like it’s working,” he added, nodding towards Madison, whose skin was looking almost all the way back to normal already. 

“You let me know when you find the time for a holiday, and I’ll take a break as well, yeah?” Draco teased, light and playful in a way that was still a little unusual for him. Glancing over at the little girl when Neville made his comment, Draco didn’t bother to hide how relieved he was that it was the statement was true. “Thank Merlin,” he commented quietly, not quite able to take his eyes off Maddie for a few long moments, and not even caring what the other man might see in his expression during that time.

If Neville hadn’t been convinced that Draco genuinely cared for the little girl, that look was evidence enough. He didn’t realise he was smiling foolishly as he watched, until Draco looked back and met his eyes. “Sorry,” he said quickly, ducking his head in admission that he’d been basically staring. “I’ll get used to it eventually, I suppose.” He realised it was probably annoying, that he was constantly so surprised at Draco exhibiting normal human behaviour, but he couldn’t help it. Besides, the part of him that was still stinging from all the times the boy-Malfoy had tormented him, verbally, physically and magically, said that he rather deserved it. “It’s um…. really sweet, how you are with her,” he explained awkwardly.  _ Sweet _ was a not a word he could have ever imagined associating with his childhood bully. 

Draco shrugged, his own head ducking slightly in something that wasn’t quite embarrassment. It wasn’t as though he couldn’t understand where Neville was coming from - he’d spent so many years acting like a jerk that anything else was probably a bit bizarre. He felt his ears flush at being called  _ sweet _ , of all things. Opening his mouth to respond, Draco was infinitely glad that the Healer chose that moment to re-enter the room, since he had no earthly idea what might have come out of his mouth. 

“How are we doing in here?” the man asked, quiet in deference to Maddie still sleeping on the bed, but still jovial, and with a twinkle in his eye that Draco found suspicious. 

Neville was also rather glad that the awkward moment had been broken. “Much better, looks like,” he said, as Joe went over to examine Madison’s skin. 

“Ah yes, much improved.” The old Healer nodded. “Sometimes the right antidote in these cases can be difficult to narrow down; it looks like this case should be relatively straightforward.” He glanced back at the two of them, quietly scrutinizing. “You’re fortunate this didn’t happen next week,” he said, addressing Draco directly, who nodded even though he wasn’t entirely sure what he was agreeing to until the man clarified. “You might have been waiting several hours. Christmas rush.” He levitated the teapot over to himself with an ease that Neville was jealous of, and poured himself a cup. “Luckily it’s fairly quiet today, knock on wood.” He did so, tapping the door frame with his knuckles, and gave Neville another appraising look. “And how exactly are you involved in all this, young man?” he asked, in an overly-familiar tone. 

Neville glanced at Draco. “We’re -” he started, and hesitated in a moment of uncertainty. “Just… friends,” he managed finally, watching Draco’s eyes. Perhaps it wasn’t strictly accurate, but he could hardly do a deep dive into the truth without keeping the man back an hour or two. 

Draco was well aware that Neville’s response was at least somewhat of a lie, but that didn’t stop him from smiling very faintly at the words. He probably could have gotten away with calling them acquaintances - and it would have been true, at least. Thankfully he was saved from having to answer by Madison rolling over and grumbling softly, a sign that she would probably be waking up soon. 

“I appreciate all the help,” Draco stated, mostly to the Healer himself, but his eyes slid back to Neville once he had spoken. 

Neville nodded an awkward acknowledgement. He could feel the old Healer’s eyes on him. He was sure that Joe knew perfectly well the connection between the Malfoys and the Lestranges, and what that meant. But he didn’t press the issue, for which Neville was grateful. 

“Well,” Pucklechurch nodded instead and went back to the door, finishing his tea and putting the cup back on the tray. “I’ll give her a few more minutes, then. Be right back.” 

The tension in the room felt even thicker than before, which was both awkwardly uncomfortable and perhaps a little nerve-wracking. Draco watched as the older man left the room, and considered the best way to broach the sudden weirdness in the room. “He seems to know you very well,” he commented, wondering if even that would be pushing things too far. 

Neville nodded stiffly, forcing himself not to chew on the side of his lip. “Yeah,” he admitted. “He’s known me since I was a baby.” He realised too late that this rather sounded as though he had some kind of lifelong disease that had to be treated, and he sighed. No help for it, then. He looked down at his hands and picked non-existent dirt from under his fingernails. “He looks after my parents,” he said finally. 

It was impossible to miss the discomfort in every iota of Neville’s body language, and Draco couldn’t help but feel grateful that the other man wasn’t looking at him when he made his final statement, and all of the puzzle pieces finally fell together for Draco. It was like being hit with a ton of bricks - because while yes, he’d logically known the reasons behind his aunt and uncle’s Azkaban sentences, he’d never actually stopped to consider that the Longbottoms really meant  _ Neville’s parents. _ That there were victims beyond the ones actually injured, and he felt a maw of inadequacy threatening to rise up and swallow him. He was used to that feeling coming onto him in the middle of the night, when he couldn’t sleep, consumed by the weight of his past and the fear that it would always overwhelm whatever he tried to do to improve the future.

“I’m sorry,” Draco offered lamely, meaning for so much more than just bringing it up in this exact moment, and knowing he’d never be able to explain what he was trying to apologise for - after all, he couldn’t exactly make amends for everything his family had done and all the people they had hurt, no matter how much he might want to.

Neville shrugged minutely, still staring down at his hands. His Gran would be furious if she knew how defensive he was being, but he couldn’t help it. He didn’t like talking about his mum and dad with people, even his friends. It was private, and people feeling sorry for him only served to remind him how utterly  _ not normal  _ it was. “You… don’t have to be,” he said, roughly. “It’s fine.” 

There was likely nothing Draco could say to that in order to make it better - pointing out that it wasn’t actually fine wasn’t exactly polite or acceptable, and would probably wind up with Neville being even more upset, which was the last thing he wanted.

“Ice creams now?” 

The sudden sound of Maddie’s voice startled him back to the moment, and he turned to look at the bed with slightly wide eyes. She was sitting up, no sign that there had ever been anything amiss other than the slightly rumpled mess of her hair. She yawned widely, and then stared at Draco, her head tilted slightly to one side as she waited for an answer. Breathing out a small sigh of relief at her apparent return to normalcy, Draco replied, “Very soon. The Healer has to come check that you’re all better, and then we can go.”

“I should leave you guys alone,” Neville said. Standing up, he suddenly felt too big for the small space, like Hagrid must feel in any normal room. He avoided Draco’s eyes as he smiled and offered his hand to Maddie. “It was very nice to meet you, Madison.” 

Maddie frowned at Neville’s outstretched hand for a moment, and then looked up at his face with obvious confusion. “You don’t want ice cream?” she asked dubiously. 

Draco had noticed the way Neville didn’t want to look at him - which was… well, it wasn’t pleasant, but it was also completely understandable. Resisting the urge to sigh and bury his face in his hands at Madison’s question, he tried to interject, “Mr. Longbottom probably has other things he needs to do today, Maddie.”

If the situation wasn’t already weird enough, hearing Malfoy call him  _ Mr Longbottom  _ was a bit of a trip, and it threw Neville off momentarily. He was about to agree - although he had only really intended to get home in time for Sunday dinner - but then Madison reached out and touched his outstretched hand with two tiny fingers. “Please?” she asked, with eyes so huge and bright they looked House-Elvish, and he melted a little. 

“I…” he stammered. “Er. Well. I don’t mind, if…” he glanced back at Draco. “Unless you’d rather…”

“I don’t mind,” Draco replied immediately, faster than he probably should have. But it wasn’t as though he was going to complain about spending some more time with Neville, particularly in a potentially less awkward setting. “We’d be happy for you to join us.”

“I… well, okay.” Neville was trying to think of something else to say, but fortunately Joe chose that moment to come back in the room again and pronounce Madison full healed. He warned Draco to keep an eye on her around anything that might cause any kind of Transfiguration. Draco got a copy of the paperwork for Madison’s file, signed a few others, and then they were free to go. 

Maddie’s excitement over ice cream seemed to override her shyness, and she babbled excitedly as they made their way out of the ward and down the hall to the elevator. She was walking of her own accord, her fingers wrapped around two of Draco’s as they got into the lift. Neville found himself smiling again in the face of her childish enthusiasm, and once they were out of the hospital he felt the heaviness start to leave his shoulders. Before long they were in Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour - the ownership had changed since the owner’s untimely death, but the name remained the same - as Neville and Draco tried to muster up the same amount of enthusiasm for eating ice cream in December as Madison had. Neville’s fingers were frozen already just from the quick walk down the street. 

“This is definitely ice cream off-season,” he muttered with amusement to Draco as he picked gingerly at his mint-choc-chip sundae.

“You’re definitely not wrong,” Draco agreed, taking a very small bite of his mango sorbet. They were the only people in the shop, other than a bored-looking wizard who seemed to be napping behind the counter. Maddie already had a ring of chocolate around her mouth, and he was grateful for the handkerchief in his pocket - it was almost certainly going to be needed. Feeling rather confident that she was sufficiently distracted by her ice cream, Draco take a chance and said softly, “Look… thank you. For everything today.” It didn’t matter if he’d already said it, he wasn’t sure there were words to express the depths of his gratitude for Neville’s presence and assistance throughout the ordeal. Draco probably wouldn’t have been nearly as calm if he’d had to deal with the place entirely on his own.

“Oh.” Neville felt himself flush despite the cold prickling at the tips of his ears and pooling at the back of his throat. “I didn’t even really do anything. But it… I’m glad I could help, if it’s…” He had to stop himself, not even sure what he was trying to say. “Anyway… it seems like we just keep running into each other,” he said finally, trying to claw his way out of his own confusion. “Reckon the universe is trying to tell us something?” 

Draco was a little enchanted with the burst of color on Neville’s skin, and he glanced down at his bowl rather than risk staring at the sight. His own ears flushed lightly at the comment though, and he shrugged even as he said, “It’s possible. I’m not sure I would know what it’s trying to say though.” Dealing with his crush was something he felt he could handle, though it was made a little harder by these run-ins. 

“Oh, something about growing up, I expect,” Neville replied, smushing his ice cream with his spoon until the separate scoops merged into one. “And not repeating the same old cycles.” Hermione, he thought, as the cleverest of them all, had probably figured this all out months ago, so it was no wonder she had seemed so pleased at the two of them getting along. He felt childish asking, but somehow he had to know that the tentative peace between them was worth something more than just politeness, or obligation, or guilt. “ _ Could _ we be friends, you think?” he asked, glancing up expectantly. 

Looking back up at that question, Draco was sure his amazement was visible, no matter how much he tried to hide it. But there was also no way he could give any other answer but the truth. “I’d like that,” he said softly, another hint of a blush creeping over his cheekbones. He didn’t have a lot of friends these days, so that would be a nice change - and he would just have to deal with whatever other feelings kept boiling up in his chest as they came. 

“I would too,” Neville said, with a strange little flutter in his stomach he couldn’t explain when he saw the pink tinge in Draco’s cheeks. “Doesn’t mean it’s possible,” he added, with a smile that was only half joking, “but worth a try.” He tried not to think about what Ron and Harry might say when they found out. 

That agreement - even with the semi-serious caveat - was more than Draco would have thought to hope for. He’d been resigned to the fact that Neville was being polite because of the circumstances and his inherent goodness. Which would have been fine, and completely understandable - but he couldn’t deny that even just the possibility of more than that was more enticing than pretty much anything else in the last few months. 

Deciding not to push his luck too far, Draco offered one hand to Neville across the table as he said, “To second chances, then?”

Neville grinned shyly at this offer and offered his hand in return. “Sure.” Draco’s handshake was firmer than Neville might have given him credit for, and he strengthened his own grip in response. “We’ll start over. Only-child heirs united against matchmaking mothers.” 

That phrasing startled a chuckle out of Draco, but he certainly wasn't about to argue with it. Neville’s palm was warm against his own, and he realized he was holding on longer than was socially acceptable. Rather than draw any more attention to his mishap, Draco nodded as he released the other man’s hand. “A worthy cause indeed,” he said with a hint of a grin. 

“You aren’t looking, then?” Neville said, joining in the chuckle. Draco shook his head in confirmation, because it was true, even if it wasn’t the entirety of the matter. He had a mind to Madison sitting beside them, though she seemed perfectly content to make her way slowly through her ice cream, despite her fingers pink with cold where she cradled the bowl in one hand. “Ernie says I should just get it over and done with,” Neville continued, “or at least  _ say _ I’m going to, to stop the vultures.” He shrugged. “I dunno, though. Seems deceitful, right? Not to mention risky.”

Raising one eyebrow, Draco said, “I suppose I can see the logic, but it does seem risky. There’s too many factors, things that can’t be controlled. It would be very easy for it all to go down in metaphorical flames.” He paused for a bite of his sorbet and then added, “But I suppose I can see the appeal of it, at least in theory.” It would be nice not to have to worry about being hounded and harassed every time he went out - but that seemed a bit too far. 

“Fortunately I don’t think Gran’s  _ too  _ serious about it right now,” Neville admitted. “I mean she won’t pass up an opportunity to show me off, for what little good that does, but she’s not making a campaign of it. Reckon I’ve got at least a couple more years before that starts. If I was a girl I’d be married by now, though, I bet.” He rolled his eyes and asked, cautiously: “what about your parents?” 

With a small shrug of his shoulders, Draco said, “Father keeps making unsubtle comments, but since he never leaves the house these days, there’s not much else he can do. Mother’s a little more restrained, but she does tend to point single females in my direction at events and such.”

Neville had privately wondered where Lucius Malfoy was at the autumn ball, but since he didn’t really care, he hadn’t asked. It seemed like an odd thing to say, but he wasn’t sure whether or not he wanted to know the story behind it. “That doesn’t sound so bad,” he said instead, recovering. “I expect you like that.” He remembered seeing Draco with Pansy Parkinson; the way she had always fawned over him. He had always seemed to like the attention, even if he hadn’t been particularly appreciative of the girl herself, as far as Neville was aware. “Not that…” he added quickly, realising that what he had just said might sound rather judgmental. “I mean, if I thought a girl was actually interested in  _ me _ , I dunno if I’d mind. But I know they aren’t. Fat chance, right?” he scoffed, remembering the way Daphne Greengrass had looked at him at the ball. “It’s not about me at all. At least you’re good looking; I expect the girls are just as keen as their parents, in your case.” 

Wincing slightly at that statement - though it wasn’t as though Neville was wrong in that conclusion, given the way Draco had presented himself in the past. He couldn’t help the way something in the back of his mind latched onto the thought that the other man thought he was good-looking, no matter that he was absolutely certain there was no way that Neville meant it the way Draco rather hoped he did.    
  
Choosing his words carefully, Draco said, “I think you might be selling yourself short there.” Keeping his eyes on Neville to see whatever reactions the other man might have, he added, “Some of them are keen, sure - but it’s never really about me. They aren’t interested in the person behind the name, they just want the... the look of it, I guess.”

Neville half smiled. He wasn’t totally sure whether he was being made fun of or not, but he felt a little rush of guilty pleasure all the same. “Exactly, that’s what I mean,” he said. “You may as well not have a face. Or a brain.” He bit his lip, and added: “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever really talked about this to anyone else. Most people wouldn’t understand.” 

Even that not-full smile was an expression for Draco to store away for later, along with the way Neville looked when he bit down on his lower lip when he seemed to be considering the words about to leave his mouth. He couldn’t quite help the small chuckle that escaped him at the other man’s observation. “Me neither,” he admitted. “It’s not necessarily a common thing, so it’s hard to talk about it with anyone who isn’t in the same position.”

“Not exactly a relatable problem,” Neville admitted. “I expect it’s one some people would like to have, but...” He sighed. “I don’t know, I just don’t see myself like my grandfather… no real work, just spending family money, married to someone I barely know, just trying to have kids… I like to be useful.”

Draco nodded, agreement and understanding rolled into one, because he knew that feeling down to his bones. “I get restless if I’m not doing something. Lazing around just seems… wasteful. There are better things to do with my time.” He glanced across the table at Madison, who finally seemed to be slowing down as she reached the end of her bowl. Taking another bite of his own, he looked back at Neville, and tried not to be overly obvious as he said, “It’s nice to know I’m not alone.”

“Yeah.” Neville smiled. “Yeah, I know what you mean.” Most of his ice cream had melted in the relative warmth of the shop; he gathered as much as he could on his spoon and slurped it in an undignified fashion. “So this next fundraiser,” he went on. “Christmas themed, I suppose?”

“Indeed,” Draco answered, restraining a sigh. “I am not looking forward to the decorations for this one, they look to be excessive.”

“Christmas?! And a party!?” Madison piped up, her eyes wide from both the suggestion and the sugar she’d ingested. 

Resisting the urge to pinch at the bridge of his nose, Draco offered her a smile. “Yes, Christmas. And a party,” he agreed with a small nod.

“Sounds terrible,” Neville said, though he couldn’t quite sound like he meant it, this time. Draco chuckled at it nonetheless. “I suppose I’ll see you there?”

“Yes!” Madison squealed, though Draco couldn’t say if she was responding to him or to Neville or to both of them. 

“Pretty sure I am fully obligated to be there,” Draco agreed with a reluctant nod.

“Right, yeah. Of course.” Neville rolled his eyes. He pushed his bowl back and shivered dramatically for Madison’s benefit. “Well this was fun. Thanks. I should probably get back home before Gran comes after you for kidnapping me again.”

Draco’s eyes widened for half a moment before he realized that Neville was joking. Probably. Rather than draw any attention to it, he nodded, saying, “Thanks, again. For everything.”

“No problem,” Neville smiled, a little foolishly, and got up from his chair with so little grace that he almost knocked it over. He righted it, flushing. He offered Madison a polite bow, which made her giggle, and he winked at her. “See you at Christmas,” he said, including Draco with a sideways glance towards him. Then he left, intending to spend the rest of the day figuring out why he suddenly couldn’t act like a normal adult in front of Draco Malfoy.


	5. Sparkling French Wine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is rated R. Last chance to turn back!

So much for keeping up appearances, Neville thought as he watched Ernie and his new fiancee, Eleanor, stare soppily into each other’s eyes as they danced. They were clearly head over heels for each other. Apparently their parents were thrilled. He was happy for them of course, but deep down he couldn’t help thinking that it was just a little unfair.

Fortunately, the party wasn’t quite a society event; Neville had no doubt that the actual wedding would be full of distant relatives and friends of the McMillans trying to cash in on this extremely advantageous match, but they had managed to keep the engagement celebration to friends and family only, which meant that the room had the feel of a Hogwarts ‘98-’99 reunion, less than a month away from the two year anniversary of the Battle. Neville couldn’t help but feel slightly removed from it all, given that he had missed the extra year most people had done, though of course everyone was perfectly friendly, and it was good to see some faces he hadn’t for a long time. 

And some for whom it hadn’t been so long. “Oh good, you came,” he said, smiling as Draco Malfoy appeared at his elbow. The room was rather Gryffindor-heavy, given the rest of the company, and he hadn’t been sure that his official friend of five months would show under those circumstances. Of course they were all grown ups now, for whatever meaning that held, but he didn’t think Harry and Ron were the only ones who might still hold a grudge. He handed Draco a glass of something cool and delicious he’d picked up off the table and had already partaken of several glasses. “It’s French, I think,” he offered, having long since decided to own the fact that he was decidedly less cultured in this area than Draco was.

Draco had indeed debated on showing up for this event. An evening in his own flat, with no obligations, had sounded a lot more appealing than putting on fancy clothes and a social smile and making small talk with people who still mostly didn’t like him. But just the chance that Neville might be there was enough incentive to get him out of the house, which he was well aware was probably a little pathetic.    
  
He’d stuck to the outskirts of the room for most of the evening, charming Eleanor’s great aunts instead of trying his hand at any awkward conversation with any of the people his own age. At least, until he’d spotted Neville alone for the first time all night - Draco wouldn’t have admitted that he’d watched the other man across the room sporadically since he’d first caught sight of him.    
  
Making his way over, Draco couldn’t help grinning at Neville’s greeting, nodding his thanks for the glass he passed over. “It’s very good,” he commented after his first sip, though he was paying far more attention to Neville himself than the drink in his hand. “How’ve you been?” Draco asked, almost wincing at the lameness of the question, but unable to think of anything better at the moment.

Neville made a face. He knew the correct answer was ‘fine’, but… “honestly this last week’s been a shambles,” he said, sighing. Draco turned to look at Neville fully at the first word, always glad when he didn’t get just a fluffy, filler answer to that question. He much preferred getting an actual understanding of what was going on in the other man’s life. “We’ve been tracking a new group of idiots trying to start a anti-Ministry league in the north, but every time we think we’re close they just vanish. Everyone’s in a bad mood, which doesn’t help.” He took a long sip of the wine, which wasn’t something he would usually even try, but he felt as though he really needed it at the moment. “I’d steer clear of Ron, if I were you.” 

“More so than usual, you mean?” Draco asked with a hint of playfulness in his tone. He got momentarily distracted by watching the line of Neville’s throat as he drank, before blinking and forcing his eyes back up to the other man’s face. “That doesn’t sound particularly pleasant. Do you think there’s any connection with the last group?” The ones that had taken him hostage, but Draco wasn’t about to say that out loud in front of people. 

“Very possible,” Neville admitted, and gave Draco a look, trying to gauge his level of concern. “You are being careful, aren’t you?” he asked, sternly. “Not walking around alone at night or anything stupid?” 

Being the center of Neville’s attention was something Draco would never try to avoid, even in circumstances like this. And the sincerity of that concern was touching; he tried not to read too much into it. “Yes, I am being careful,” he reassured him. “Are you? After all, your job is a lot more dangerous, dealing with those types of people on a regular basis.” It was a terrifying thought, really, if he let himself think about it for too long, which was why he usually didn’t. 

“Well yes, but I’m not the one they were targeting,” Neville pointed out. “Anyway we’re almost always in teams.” He winked. “Good to know you care, though.” 

Draco felt the tips of his ears flush slightly when Neville winked, even though there was absolutely no reason for him to have such a reaction. He tried to hide behind his wine glass as he scrambled for a response, taking a longer sip than he’d intended to as he wracked his brain. “I thought we’d already established that,” was what he finally came up with, and he tried not to wince as he heard the ridiculousness of his own words. “But I’m glad to reiterate it.”

“Aw,” Neville teased, already feeling somewhat lightheaded with the effects of the wine. “I’m touched. Seriously though, all I’m doing is traipsing through the countryside getting wet feet. Right now I’d actually be glad if there was a real fight.” He grimaced. “Which is something I never thought I’d say.”

“Why are you getting wet feet? There are spells to protect against that, you know,” Draco replied, mostly because the thought of Neville in any sort of altercation made him want to lock him away from the world and anything that might hurt him. He swapped out his empty glass for a full one, even if he was already feeling the wine as well. 

“Spells wear off,” Neville muttered. “Anyway sometimes you  _ feel  _ wet and cold no matter how many charms you use. If they are the same group,” he continued, “they’ve learned from last time - no more cozy farmhouses, it’s all bog and marsh, not even any decent plantlife.” 

Frowning very slightly at that, Draco tried not to focus on the thought of Neville treading through a cold wetland in the dark of night. “How’s your tree coming along?” he asked instead, admittedly perhaps trying to steer the conversation towards a less depressing topic. 

“It’s all right, I think, but I haven’t had time to so much as trim it for weeks,” Neville sighed. “Honestly it’s sort of getting to me. It’s the only way I can relax, but lately I can’t relax enough to even work on it. And I’m sure it’s supposed to have daily care. There’s research I want to do, too, but I don’t think I’ll ever get around to that. Although I’ve been meaning to ask you, actually, whether you know any good translation spells. The one Hermione gave me isn’t great with Asian languages. Not the traditional writing, anyway.” 

Draco had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from frowning further at Neville’s answer. “That much stress isn’t good for you,” he commented before he could stop himself. “I think I’ve got one somewhere, but I can’t remember off the top of my head. I’ll owl it to you.” At least that much he could help with. “What are you researching now?” he asked, curious and hopeful that it wasn’t something else for Neville to be reminded that he was actually worrying about. 

“Oh, the lady at Flourish & Blotts ordered in some rare Japanese texts for me,” Neville explained, regretfully. “About how Eastern Magic works - you know they don’t use spells in Latin? Makes sense, I guess, but…” he shrugged. “Anyway I figured if I could know more about the way they use magic I’d be a step closer to cracking the mysteries of the  _ shakkan  _ cultivators. But I’ve been so busy I haven’t even had a chance to pick up the books, they’re just sitting there in Diagon Alley.” 

Nodding as Neville spoke to show his understanding, Draco’s eyes widened at that last statement. “Neville, I will go pick up your books for you, that’s a five minute walk from work,” he offered immediately, which was better than the actual minor conniption fit he was having mentally at the implications about how little time the other man actually had outside of work. 

“Oh, yeah.” Neville rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Yeah I guess it is. Thanks. I mean, if you don’t mind, that’d be great.” He grinned sheepishly. “I sound so disorganised. I mean, I  _ am _ , pretty disorganised, but I swear it’s not usually this bad.” 

Suddenly Draco was hit with a memory from first year, of Neville’s Rememberall and stealing it like the tiny little jerk he’d been back then - he’d love to go back to those years just to smack some sense into his own head - but rather than focus on that side of things, he just said with a shrug of his own, “I wouldn’t have offered if I minded. How many books is it?”

“I’m not sure, actually. Probably not more than three or four.” Normally Neville would have been frustrated at the thought of so much reading, but since he was actually interested, he was more frustrated that he wasn’t able to get started. 

“Three or four what?” 

Neville looked around, surprised. It was Harry, carrying two empty glasses. He realised that they’d been sort of lingering around the drinks table, and stood aside quickly to let him through. “Nothing,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Not important.” 

“Not keeping secrets from us, are you?” Harry asked. He  _ seemed  _ like he was joking, but there was a hint of a frown on his face as he included Draco in his look. Draco met that gaze head-on, because he didn’t have anything to hide these days. “Go on, tell.”

“Not unless you want to be bored to tears,” Neville sighed and glanced over his shoulder. Without realising he had taken a half-step forward, between Harry and Draco, making it easier to form a barrier with his body if needed. “Draco’s just offered to pick up some books for me, that’s all.” 

“Mm.” Harry hesitated, then, forced by the mention of him to acknowledge his presence, nodded in Draco’s direction. “Malfoy.” 

“Potter,” Draco replied with a small nod of his own. He wasn’t about to initiate any further conversation than that - despite the years of mangled history between them, there was also a weirdly tentative, unspoken truce that Draco was wary of disrupting. 

More importantly, Neville’s change in position not only partially shielded him, but it had also brought him just a little closer into Draco’s personal space. Not by much, not really enough to even be considered strange - but it was just close enough that he was now able to pick up faint hints of the other man’s scent with every inhalation of breath, which was almost dangerously distracting. 

Swallowing heavily, Draco made a small excuse about going out for some fresh air so that he could slip away, leaving the Gryffindors to their own devices. 

Neville glared at Harry as he refilled the glasses. “You don’t have to be so rude,” he said eventually, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Harry raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t say anything.” 

“You didn’t have to.” Neville sighed and ran his hair through his hair. “He’s trying. You could at least… I don’t know, ask how he’s doing since he was kidnapped last year.” 

Harry had the decency to look a little guilty at that. “Look,” he said, recovering. “You can try and be friends with Malfoy if you want, so long as you’re careful.” 

Neville bristled. “Thanks,” he said, very flat. 

“Just don’t expect me to make nice. There’s too much… stuff, there. And better not let Ron see you.” 

“Ron can get over it,” Neville snapped, so sharply that Harry blinked at him in surprise. “Hermione’s been working with him over a year and  _ she  _ doesn’t have a problem.” 

“That she shows. I know it still bothers her sometimes. One apology doesn’t erase everything he did.” 

“I know,” Neville sighed. “But he  _ is  _ trying, y’know. He hasn’t been insulting to me once, and it’s been months. And you haven’t seen him with those kids. They adore him.” 

Harry still looked doubtful, but he took his full glasses and turned to go back to the others. “Just be careful,” he said. “You can’t trust him.” 

Neville opened his mouth to say that he could decide for himself who he was going to trust, thank you, but shut it again. There was no point getting into a fight, and anyway he had places to be. 

He downed the rest of his glass - which might have been a mistake, as it was almost full, and he felt it go almost immediately to his head - and headed in the direction Draco had gone. 

He found him on the small patio, looking out over the gardens that were lit with small faerie lights for the party. He went up and put his hand on the shorter man’s arm without thinking. “Sorry,” he said quickly, when Draco jumped. “It’s just me. Are you… are you okay? I’m sorry…” 

“I’m fine, you don’t need to apologize,” Draco said immediately, shaking his head slightly. “It’s not your fault,” he reminded Neville even as he turned to face him. He offered him a rueful smile as he continued softly, “Not everyone is as willing to believe I’m any different than I was ten years ago.” Draco shrugged again, looking away before he got too entranced with memorizing the exact shade of Neville’s eyes again, or something along those lines. “You didn’t have to come looking for me. Sorry if I made…” he gestured back towards the interior with one hand, “that… weird, or whatever.”

“I mean,  _ ten  _ years is being pretty generous,” Neville said, with a teasing sort of smile. Draco chuckled once humorlessly at that, because Neville certainly wasn’t wrong, and he couldn’t bring himself to look back at him quite yet. 

Neville was concerned, but at the same time he couldn’t help thinking the colour rising in Draco’s cheeks was rather sweet, which was confusing. “It’s fine. When you work together every day you can get pretty possessive of each other. He’s just worried about me.” 

Draco tried and failed to imagine what the situation would be like in reverse, if his friends would be so fiercely defensive on his behalf. He supposed it didn’t really matter in the end, especially since Neville was out here with him instead of inside with them like he could have been. 

“Do  _ you _ ever worry?” Draco heard himself ask, and then winced slightly at his own lack of filter. “That you’re wrong about me?” he added, since apparently he couldn’t take it back, no matter how much insecurity he was showing with that clarification. 

Neville frowned for a moment. “I mean…” he hesitated, then he decided to be honest. “Maybe a bit, at first,” he admitted. “But not anymore. If you were going to kill me you’ve had lots of chances,” he added, and felt the joke fall flat almost before it was out of his mouth. He plucked at his sleeve; he was wearing less formal robes tonight, the colour of dark red wine. They were perfectly suitable for a well-off wizard at a posh event, but with much less fastenings than the dark green ones, which he only ever wore to those damn fancy balls. 

Would he trust Draco with something more important than some old books, he wondered? Was that naive?

“I like being friends with you,” he finished lamely. 

That honesty was appreciated, even if it did sting a little - it wasn’t as though Draco didn’t know that he’d been a pretty terrible person up until relatively recently. He saw Neville’s fingers out of the corner of his eye, the motion that was almost certainly a nervous tic. His own hand moved without his full consent, smoothing over the fabric to help it lay flat again, and then his fingertips trailed over Neville’s very softly. The other man’s skin was warm, especially in contrast to the brisk spring air around them. Dragging his eyes back up to Neville’s face, Draco smiled, trying to force away any lingering negativity. “I like being your friend,” he replied quietly, because it was true, even if some days it felt like that friendship was going to drive him crazy, being closer than he ever would have expected but not nearly as close as he’d discovered he truly wanted to be.

Neville felt Draco’s fingers on his like a spark of electricity under his skin. They were standing close, very close, too close for a platonic pair of young men on a fine evening, and Neville couldn’t look away from Draco’s grey eyes, gazing into his. At that point something came over him that even much later was almost impossible to describe. Something suddenly made sense, as though a loose tooth, after being a constant source of annoyance and low grade anxiety for weeks, had finally detached from its root. 

_ Oh, shit _ , he thought, heart pounding, and before he could think he had ducked his head and closed the final, infinitesimal distance, pressing his lips to Draco’s for what he meant to be just a moment, but ended up lingering, sweet and tingling, like the glass of French wine. 

For half a heartbeat, Draco was confused about what was happening - and then his brain caught up, and there was no way he could even consider stopping himself from kissing Neville back. He tried to restrain his enthusiasm, because he really didn’t want to scare the other man off. But he couldn’t help the way his fingers latched onto the fabric of Neville’s robes, gripping tightly in the space next to his ribs. Draco pressed closer without even thinking about it, and everything outside of this moment and Neville’s lips on his own faded to background noise. There was absolutely nothing that could possibly be more important right now than this, and Draco fully intended to enjoy it for as long as possible.

Neville made a soft, low sound of satisfaction as the kiss deepened, and Draco’s body pressed up against his, and he found his own hands tangled in Draco’s robes. It was very, very warm all of a sudden, and the flood of heat started at Draco’s mouth and spiralled down to pool in the bottom of Neville’s stomach. It was the sudden intensity of that feeling, more than the real and pressing need for air, that made him pull back, just a little. He stared into Draco’s eyes again while they held onto each other as though for dear life. His mind raced, addled somewhat with the effects of the wine. 

_ I just kissed Draco Malfoy.  _

_ And he kissed me back.  _

Draco was breathing a bit heavier than normal by the time Neville pulled away - it could have been minutes or hours, he wasn’t really sure and didn’t particularly care, since he hadn’t wanted to  _ stop _ \- and then he forgot to breath entirely when his eyes blinked open to find the other man staring him from just a few scant inches away. His mind was a little stuck on replaying the noise Neville had made, the one that had sent a shiver down Draco’s spine, both from the sound itself and the knowledge that he’d been responsible for it, and he couldn’t help wondering if he might get another chance to hear it.    
  
That Neville hadn’t let go yet, wasn’t stammering any excuses and backing away like he’d made a terrible mistake, was encouraging. His throat was suddenly dry, and he had no idea what he was going to say. Draco inhaled deeply, his tongue darting out across his lower lip - which wasn’t helpful, actually, because the taste of Neville and the wine was still lingering there - and anything suave or charming he might have said flew right out of his head.    
  
“Really?” was what Draco actually asked, soft and with an almost reverent tone, a hint of disbelief in every letter, because there was no way he’d ever done anything good enough in his life to deserve to have  _ this _ even for a moment. 

“Huh?” Neville replied, feeling slow and stupid on top of everything else. His fingers loosened a little in Draco’s robes, but he still didn’t let go. “I… um… that was okay, wasn’t it?” 

Draco’s fingers tightened slightly when he felt Neville’s do the opposite. He beamed even as he felt his ears flush, nodding as he said, “So much better than okay.” Feeling a little braver than before, he leaned in slowly, giving the other man time to pull back if that was what he wanted, and laid his lips gently on Neville’s again. 

Something in the part of Neville’s brain that was still working told him that he could sort all this out later. Right now, he was all too happy to close his eyes again and fall back into the kiss, soft and careful and exploratory. 

He’d never kissed another boy before. Luna, a few times, and one of the Ravenclaw girls, back at Hogwarts in those last few months when everything had been so confusing and terrifying and there wasn’t much else to do when you were cooped up together in the same nightmare. But while those kisses had been perfectly nice, they had never felt quite like  _ this.  _

The fleeting thought of Hogwarts brought him back to his senses, a little, and he remembered with a twist to his stomach just where they were. He pulled back again with a reluctant sort of noise, and looked back the way he had come. The music and the hum of talk and laughter floated out through the open door to the house. As much as he was enjoying this, he was sober enough to know he didn’t want anyone to see this, for Draco’s sake as much as his own. “You want to um… get out of here?” he asked, looking back into Draco’s flushed face. “I mean, maybe somewhere more private…” 

That offer surprised him, and Draco grinned again, his head ducking down almost bashfully for a moment. “Yes. Absolutely,” he said, because there was no way he could possibly refuse. It had been a long time since he’d kissed anyone, but even so, he was pretty sure nothing could compare. “Am I going to get accused of kidnapping you again if I offer my flat?” Draco asked with a hint of the playfulness that Neville seemed to draw out in him the most. 

Neville shook his head, a thrill shuddering down his spine at the idea of the two of them, alone, in Draco’s flat. “Gran won’t wait,” he said. He glanced over his shoulder. Draco worried briefly that he was going to change his mind, with the reminder of all the people inside who most definitely wouldn’t approve of… this, whatever it was. But Neville was only wondering if he should tell someone he was leaving. Except that the thought of having to go back inside was intolerable. He turned back and offered Draco his hand. “Let’s go.” 

Grinning at that agreement, Draco curled his fingers around Neville’s while he reached for his wand with his other hand. It only took a moment for him to find the right inside pocket, and another heartbeat to get the Apparation right to whisk them away from the party and any potential prying eyes. 

They landed in Draco’s living room, and even though he moved to put his wand away, he didn’t let go of Neville’s hand where he was still holding onto him. Draco felt himself trembling just slightly, nervous anticipation mixing with excitement and something that was almost disbelief. He stared at Neville for a few long moments, just drinking in the sight of him in Draco’s space of his own volition. 

Neville stood there for a moment in the fresh silence, just breathing, glancing down at their joined hands and up again into Draco’s face. He felt very strange all of a sudden, and wondered vaguely if this wasn’t all some bizarre dream. “Is this totally crazy?” he asked finally, in a rush, eyes wide. A voice in the back of his mind tried to remind him that he had had quite a lot to drink, but he wasn’t particularly interested in listening to logic from his own brain at the moment. 

That question, combined with the expression on Neville’s face, made something in Draco’s stomach drop uneasily. It would hurt, if Neville changed his mind now, but he supposed now would be better than later, even if Draco would respect that decision now or after when it happened.  _ If _ it happened, the long-repressed optimistic side of him whispered in the back of his mind, which he tried to shut down because listening to that never ended well for him. 

“Maybe,” Draco answered softly, letting go of Neville’s hand but taking half a step closer at the same time. 

“Are you sure it’s okay?” Neville babbled, without realising just how closely his fears aligned with Draco’s in that moment. “I mean… it’s me… and you and me… I mean…”

With a small sound that might have been a groan, Draco surged forward, closing the last bit of space between them to kiss Neville once again. This one was a little harder than the first tentative ones had been. He broke away after another couple of heartbeats, though he didn’t pull back very far at all. “I have been  _ sure _ , about you, for months,” Draco admitted in a whisper. 

“What?” Neville exclaimed, still reeling. His lips tingled. Suddenly he was forced to look at this strange, hard-won friendship in a new light. He stared. “But… you… why didn’t you  _ say _ anything?”

Draco felt himself blush again even as he tipped his head back to look at the ceiling in a hopeless attempt to hide it. “What would I have said?” he retorted, shrugging helplessly. “There was no reason to think that it would go over well if I just walked up one day and said,  _ ‘hey, I know you hated me a year ago but in the intervening months since you saved my life I’ve developed a giant crush on you so would you please let me take you to dinner!’ _ ” His hands were flailing just a bit by the time he was done speaking, and his cheeks burned even more with the admission. “Sorry,” he murmured, dropping his eyes to the floor because he didn’t dare look to see what Neville’s response to that revelation was going to be.

For a moment Neville could only stare. Just hearing Draco Malfoy say the words ‘I have a giant crush on you’ was inconceivable, let alone in reference to _ him.  _ Once he had gotten over that though, a lot of things started to make sense.  _ Did I know?  _ He wondered to himself.  _ I must have sensed something, or why the hell would I have kissed him?  _

_ Or you’re just really drunk,  _ said the other, more cynical voice.

His expression split slowly into a smile. “Giant crush, huh?” he teased. 

Draco couldn’t help the wince that crept onto his face at that question, and the tone it was asked in. “Yeah,” he confirmed in a sigh, deflating just a little - Neville probably wouldn’t hold it over his head, or at least, not for too long. He was pretty much the embodiment of that ‘nobility’ trait the Gryffindors were always so proud of. Still, maybe there was some hope of escaping with the last shreds of his dignity intact, which was why he went to pull away, still unable to bring himself to look at Neville’s face, too afraid of what he might see there.

“Draco.” Neville caught clumsily at Draco’s sleeve and tugged him close again. “It’s okay. I’m flattered, really… it’s just a lot to take in, that’s all.” He chuckled. “Maybe neither of us are actually sober enough for this conversation. Could we maybe just… you know… kiss some more?” 

Finally taking the risk of glancing at Neville’s face - which was missing the gleeful spite that Draco had been the most fearful of - he moved easily enough when the other man reeled him back in. Arching one eyebrow up, he opened his mouth to say that, if anything, he was not nearly  _ drunk _ enough to have this conversation - and then all of his thoughts were completely derailed by that question. Draco squinted at him almost suspiciously for a moment before saying, “After all of that, do you really think my answer is going to be ‘no’!?”

Neville grinned. He drew one forearm around Draco’s back and cupped the side of his face with the other hand, and kissed him with renewed intensity and a sureness that had not been there before, now that he knew for sure this was what they both wanted. 

It was impossible for Draco to stay grumpy when confronted with Neville’s grin. And the way he touched him, the warmth of his skin against his own. He would never have admitted to it, but Neville probably felt the way Draco melted into that kiss, his own hands fisting in the fabric of the other man’s robes to keep him as close as possible. 

Neville would be the first to admit that he wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing, but since instinct seemed to be serving him fairly well so far, he simply went with it. He had to stoop a little because of his added height, but it wasn’t uncomfortable; on the contrary he liked the way it felt to hold Draco in his arms, imagining he could feel the beat of the smaller man’s heart against his chest. “There,” he said breathlessly when they finally paused for air. “Much better.” 

Even with the somewhat obvious lack of experience, it was still the best kiss Draco had ever had. He was clinging to the other man just a little bit, chuckling at Neville’s assertion when they took a break. “There’s a sofa like three steps behind you, which could make things even more better.” He paused, frowning because those words were not right, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to really care, except to clarify, “You know what I meant.”

Neville laughed and glanced behind him. He hadn’t taken much notice of anything else since they arrived, and it was strangely disorienting to find himself in the same place he had woken up in, almost a year ago. “Oh look,” he said, taking in the neat living room with a sweeping glance. “You unpacked.”

“Yeah, had to happen eventually,” Draco said with a small shrug, letting his hands fall to Neville’s hips and gently pushing him back towards the couch. He was struck with the memory of waking up to Neville’s face on the pillow next to his own, and had the fleeting wish of maybe seeing that same sight for an entirely different reason. 

Neville’s legs came up against the sofa and he let himself fall back with a thump onto the cushions. His own memory of that night was a little hazy, thanks to the head injury, but the overriding thought that came to his mind when he glanced towards the bedroom door was:  _ he’s seen me in my underwear. I’ve seen him in pyjamas.  _

“Looks nice,” he said, though it was mainly for something to say, and reached up to tug open the fastening at the neck of his robes. 

Draco chuckled at that observation, which quickly faded as he watched Neville’s fingers at his own throat. He mimicked the motion without really thinking about it, letting his own robes - navy blue, this time - fall forgotten to the floor behind him, which left him in slacks and a white button down. Pausing for a moment, he kept his eyes on Neville’s face as he moved to sit down next to him. “This okay?” he asked quietly, still a little nervous about scaring the other man off. 

Neville blinked, and smiled. “Better than okay,” he said, with easy mimicry of Draco’s words from earlier. After a moment’s hesitation he shifted his robes off his shoulders so that they pooled under him- not the way to treat them, his Gran probably would have said, but he could hardly care any less. Draco stared, a bit greedily, as the fabric fell, drinking in the sight of Neville and maybe storing the visual away for later as well. 

Since it was spring Neville was wearing only light cotton trousers and a vest underneath - more dressed than he had been the last time he’d been here, but only just. But it was more comfortable, given that almost every inch of his skin seemed flushed with warmth. He reached out to cup Draco’s face with his hand again, his thumb just under his ear and his fingers curling around the back of his head, twisting into the ends of his hair. “Much better,” he murmured. 

Another grin crept onto his face as his ears burned again, but Draco still tilted his head into Neville’s touch, greedy for the warmth of the other man’s hands on his skin. He reached out in return, perhaps a little more tentative as his fingers skimmed along Neville’s cheekbone and then down to the line of his jaw. Leaning in very slowly, Draco pressed his lips to Neville’s carefully once again, restraining himself from throwing himself wholeheartedly into it for at least a little bit longer. 

Still not quite able to believe how much had fundamentally changed in just the last few minutes, Neville felt his heart pattering like leaves fluttering in the wind as he leaned into Draco’s kiss, pulling one knee up under him so that he could turn easily. Another time he might have doubted himself, demanding to know what this meant, why it was happening, but the effect of the wine was like a potion that allowed him to listen to his body rather than the dominant, doubtful recesses of his mind. His free hand went to Draco’s waist, a light touch that became instinctively tighter as the kiss deepened. 

Even with everything, he’d halfway expected Neville to pull away. So Draco was immensely pleased when that turned out not to be the case, and he would have grinned again if his mouth hadn’t been better occupied. He pressed forward again without really thinking about it, his hand falling to rest on Neville’s shoulder, where he gripped harder when he felt the other man’s hand on his waist.

For a while they kissed, while Neville enjoyed not just the closeness and warmth between them but the wonderful novelty of living in the moment. After several minutes of kissing with a gradually increasing intensity that left Neville’s lips tingling and his cheeks hot, Neville realised that he had tugged the back of Draco’s shirt free of the waist of his slacks, and his fingers were now brushing over the smooth bare skin of Draco’s back. “I should probably let you know,” he murmured against Draco’s lips, “I don’t really know what I’m doing.”

Shivering slightly under Neville’s touch, from both his fingertips against his skin and that admission, Draco replied just as softly, “I never would have guessed.” He pulled back just slightly, already breathing a little harder than normal. Grinning at the color on Neville’s cheeks, and the hand that was still on his back, Draco decided to take a risk. With his hands solidly on the other man’s shoulders, Draco moved slowly, giving Neville enough time to protest to the change in position if he wanted to as he set his knees on either side of Neville’s thighs, effectively planting himself in the man’s lap. 

Neville made a small noise, a sharp intake of breath, as Draco’s weight settled between his legs. “Okay?” Draco asked quietly, his eyes searching Neville’s face for any hint of discomfort that would indicate he’d pushed too far, too fast. 

“Yeah,” Neville breathed, heart pounding in his throat. He bit his lip, and without looking away he tugged the rest of Draco’s shirt free so that it hung loose and creased over his thighs. 

Draco’s eyes fixated on where Neville’s teeth were pressing into his own lip, at least until he felt the other man’s hands moving over him again. He shuddered with anticipation, leaning closer again. One of his hands moved up to comb gently into the hair at the base of Neville’s skull, the other staying on his shoulder to help ensure Draco didn’t lose his balance. 

Neville grunted as Draco leaned into him, feeling with a flood of heavy anticipation the way his body started to react as Draco’s weight pressed against his groin. For just a second there was a flicker of hesitation as he wondered for the first time where exactly this was heading; this was very fast considering how recently he hadn’t had a clue about Draco’s feelings… on the other hand, he reasoned in the split second before he let his fingers slip under the hem of the untucked shirt and taking Draco’s bare waist between his hands, it could hardly lead anywhere  _ bad _ . Goosebumps popped up along Draco’s skin in the wake of Neville’s touch, and his back arched slightly as if chasing his fingers as they moved. Draco seemed to know what he wanted. He was excited to see what would happen. 

He swallowed the breath that had caught in his throat, and this time when his lifted his mouth to meet Draco’s, it was with renewed eagerness edged with urgency, not one long kiss this time but brief, heavy ones, one after the other, until Neville missed Draco’s mouth entirely and let his tongue out to taste an enticing-looking spot just under the line of his smooth jaw. That action drew a sharp gasp from Draco, even as he tilted his head back just a little to give Neville better access to put his mouth wherever he wanted. 

Those kisses had Draco feeling even more drunk than the wine from earlier, some of his inhibitions a little looser than was probably advisable. Which likely had something to do with the way he didn’t really hesitate to grind his hips down gently into Neville’s lap, pressing his ass almost softly against the other man’s groin. 

Neville let out a short gasp against Draco’s throat, where he had just been starting to work his way down, as what Draco was doing triggered an extremely…  _ physical  _ reaction. There was no way Draco wouldn’t be able to feel it, either, and he had a brief moment of boyish panic before he realised that that might just have been the precise effect his former schoolmate had been aiming for. “Draco,” he panted, not sure whether it was warning, protest or a demand for more, as he shifted his hands under the man’s shirt, blindly feeling his chest. Draco leaned even more into that touch, still just as greedy for Neville’s hands on him in any way he could get. His own hands were still gripping at the other man’s shoulders, less about balance and more just because he was enjoying clinging to Neville like that for the time being. 

Smirking just a little with the smug sort of satisfaction he felt at being responsible for such a reaction, Draco responded with a quiet, “Yeah?” even as his hips moved again, undulating in a slow sort of rhythm. 

“Ungh.” Neville bit his lip, hard, to stop an even sharper exclamation. He would never, ever have guessed that the prissy, stroppish  _ Draco Malfoy  _ he knew in school could be so… so…  _ lascivious _ . It was so strange to see that satisfied look on his face and not feel frightened or angry, but quite the opposite, to want  _ more  _ of it. Deciding that two could play at that game, he removed his hands from under Draco’s shirt and went about removing it instead, flicking the buttons open so quickly that they almost tore. He didn’t feel too bad about that. It wasn’t like Draco couldn’t afford a new shirt. 

Draco grinned victoriously at the subtle change in Neville, moving back just enough so that the other man had a little more room to work on the buttons of his shirt. Under any other circumstances, he might protest the treatment of the fabric, but at present he really couldn’t bring himself to care. He let go of Neville’s shoulders long enough to let the shirt fall forgotten to the floor behind him, and then reached out to return the favor. His fingers skimmed along the hem of Neville’s vest, tugging the fabric up gently, slow enough that the man could put a stop to the motion before it came off completely. Neville lifted his arms and let him pull the basic garment over his head, and joined Draco’s shirt on the floor. For a moment they breathed loudly into the silence, looking at each other. Neville’s fingers traced slowly over Draco’s chest as he tried to forget how tight his underwear currently was. “What now?” he asked finally, curious, eager, and daring. 

Draco would be lying if he said he’d never thought about this - and he was pretty sure he’d run the gamut of possibilities within his own mind. It seemed highly unlikely to him that there was anything Neville could ask for that Draco hadn’t at least considered, and by this point he was prepared to do just about anything, as long as he continued getting to have Neville’s hands and attention on him.

Shuddering again under Neville’s fingertips, his own trailing lightly over the shape of the other man’s collarbones, it took Draco a moment to comprehend the question. He blinked, and then grinned, a hint of bashfulness creeping into the expression again as he replied, “Now, seriously, whatever you want.” 

Neville let out a nervous sort of chuckle. “I er… well, this is... about as far as I’ve ever got,” he admitted, flushing, and leaving out that it was much further than he had ever got with  _ another boy _ . It was a pretty painful thing to admit, at nineteen going on twenty, but he had been rather busy leading a child army and being thrown in the deep end of a difficult, dangerous job with no training or qualifications. Sometimes it felt like lots of things in his life were happening in the wrong order, and he wasn’t sure what was expected. It wasn’t like his spare time was spent researching such things, although maybe, he thought as his skin prickled pleasurably under Draco’s fingers, it ought to be. 

Taking a deep breath to steady himself - because that admission meant that he suddenly felt a lot more pressure to make this as good as possible for Neville - Draco considered his options for a heartbeat or two. “Okay,” he murmured softly, more to fill the silence between them that was almost teetering back towards awkward the longer he hesitated. 

Finally deciding on a course of action, Draco leaned in once more to press another brief kiss to Neville’s lips before pulling back and starting to rearrange again. That the other man was already sitting on the couch was helpful, as Draco positioned himself between Neville’s thighs before sinking to his own knees. He kept watching Neville’s face, even as his hands smoothly caressed up along his inseam to the button on his waistband. “Can I?” Draco asked softly, needing that verbal confirmation that this was acceptable. 

Neville watched with widening eyes and lips parted slightly in surprise. He held back a gasp as his skin  _ rippled  _ under his trousers, following the path of Draco’s thumbs, from his knees right up his inner thighs, like a Healing spell running through the flesh. He didn’t know whether to be embarrassed that the effects of this on his body were perfectly visible, particularly now they were right at Draco’s eye level. “ _ Yes _ ,” he breathed, his mouth dry, after a moment’s startled hesitation. “I mean, if you… want…”

“Oh, I want to,” Draco replied immediately with a wide smirk. His fingers were trembling just slightly as he managed to get Neville’s pants undone, his gaze flicking back and forth between the other man’s face and what his fingers were doing. Curling his fingers into the waistband, Draco kept his gaze locked on Neville’s as he moved to tug the fabric down. 

Neville swallowed hard at the look in Draco’s eyes as much as the delicate movements of his nimble fingers. He lifted his hips a little, enough that the loose trousers could shift. Even that small movement was enough to make him shudder a little, as the fabric moved over the obvious bulge in his underwear, and his hand twitched as he fought the boyish instinct to cover himself. 

Draco watched greedily as Neville was slowly revealed. His eyes went back up to the other man’s face as he leaned in again, mouthing wetly against Neville’s length through the fabric of his underwear. It was impossible to stop his own dick from twitching in the confines of his pants, not with the way he was getting a lungful of Neville’s thick, earthy scent with each breath, but Draco ignored it for the time being, far more focused on making this man feel as good as he could. 

Neville let out a low whimper and had to close his eyes for a moment, but that was almost  _ worse _ , that warm, damp feeling around his cock without context, and he forced them open again to stare. Draco Malfoy, with his pale, perfectly-trimmed hair framing his face like a halo, nuzzling at his cock like that, it was the sight as much as the sensation that made his fingers dig into the sofa.

That sound sent another shudder down Draco’s spine, and his fingers tightened on the tops of Neville’s thighs briefly. Lifting his head just slightly, he reached for the waistband of Neville’s underwear, pulling the last fabric barricade down and trying not drool in anticipation as he did so. His fingers immediately curled around the base of Neville’s cock as it was exposed, wasting no time in licking up the underside, his eyes still staring up at the other man’s even if they were half-lidded with lust already. 

As much as Neville had been expecting this, heart pounding harder and harder with anticipation, the next moment still had him biting his lip so hard that it almost bled. “Draco,” he gasped with his next forced exhalation - his cock was so hard it was almost  _ painful _ \- but that was all he could manage; he settled for grinning wildly and letting his head fall back onto the cushion. 

Draco was immediately enamoured with the sound of his name like that on Neville’s lips, even better than anything he could have thought to imagine. He caught sight of that grin for half a moment, and he would have grinned himself, except that he had better things to do with his mouth at the moment. His eyes fell shut as he groaned, wrapping his lips fully around the head of Neville’s cock and sinking down the length of it slowly, savoring the heft and taste of him on Draco’s tongue.

Whenever Neville had imagined something like this - which was probably at the normal rate for an awkward teenage boy who got along better with plants than people, who had a roommate like Seamus who could tell a bawdy story or seventeen that would make even the randiest person want to take a cold shower afterwards - he’d never quite been able to get the image right. Maybe the problem was that he’d always imagined himself with a girl, like Luna - although he’d never felt at all right about that - or some faceless entity, somehow more disturbing, and it was hard to imagine himself enjoying the frightening level of intimacy it would require, to have someone’s mouth… there. Now however he was forced to realise that his imagination was an extremely poor substitute for reality, the very present and alcohol-hazed reality of Draco’s mouth -  _ Draco’s smug, smirking, clever mouth -  _ around his cock, hot, and wet, and moving tantalisingly slowly so that Neville had to remind himself to keep breathing in case he ran out of air. He suddenly didn’t know what to do with his hands; he gripped the arm of the sofa with one and let the other down to cover Draco’s where it rested on his thigh. 

Settling into his position between Neville’s thighs a little more fully, Draco almost grinned again when he felt that hand on his. He blinked his eyes open again, staring up the length of Neville’s torso, and then moved his hand, his fingers trailing softly over Neville’s palm for a moment before repositioning them so that the other man’s hand was lightly resting on Draco’s skull. As much as a priss as he might have been about his hair, Draco had definitely envisioned having Neville’s fingers in it, and he wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity to have that actually come to fruition.

Once that was done, he refocused on the task at hand, so to speak. He found a rhythm to fall into, gentle but not so slow as to be torturous, his tongue flicking out randomly as he sucked, tracing over the veins and ridges of Neville’s cock as he moved over the length of it repeatedly.

Neville’s breathing was hard and deep, and every other breath was a low whimper of enjoyment. He hadn’t known it could feel so good, like everything below his stomach was burning hot under the skin.  _ It’s like magic,  _ he thought as his fingers curled instinctively into Draco’s hair.  _ Like a cheering charm, or a potion, but times a hundred.  _ It was certainly a hundred times better than anything he could manage by himself, which, satisfying as it was, always made him feel guilty, afterwards. He realised he liked his hand there, where he could feel each movement of Draco’s mouth reflected in the tilt of his head, the curve of his neck. He found himself muttering words that would have made his Gran wash his mouth out with a soap spell - “ _ fuck,  _ Draco… Godric’s fucking balls… _ fuck _ , that feels so good…” 

Groaning in return at the words and sounds he could hear escaping Neville, and the way his fingers were gripping gently at his hair, Draco sucked a little harder, his head starting to bob a little faster. He was more drunk on the situation than the alcohol, at this point, and he could feel his own dick leaking in his pants even as he concentrated on getting Neville off. Dropping one hand to his own lap just to undo the button and release some of the pressure there, Draco looked up through his lashes to take in how Neville looked right now, wanting to store the memory away for later. He was flushed, his dark brown hair made darker with sweat and his lips red where he had bitten them as he looked back at Draco, his pupils large and eyes bright.

_ You should be on the team, Longbottom, you’ve got no brains.  _ The words of an eleven year old child that had nevertheless cut so deep they had stuck in his memory over nine years, came unbidden to Neville’s mind as their eyes met again. It didn’t make him want to stop, as he might have thought it would, only made his fingers tighten in Draco’s hair, as he realised just  _ how fucking submissive _ Draco looked between Neville’s legs, on his knees with Neville’s cock in his mouth,  _ fuck, fuck, fuck _ , and a fresh lance of heat went up his spine as he realised,  _ fuck _ , he  _ liked _ it, knowing that the young man now so willingly and enthusiastically servicing him was the same boy who had teased him a hundred times for being stupid, and ugly - 

“Draco,” he gasped, as the wave of heat rushed right through his body and started to pool, bubbling, at the base of his cock as Draco continued to take him in his  _ hot fucking mouth _ again and again - “ _ Draco,  _ I can’t…” 

There was something like a warning, there, of the impending end that was really the whole point, which Draco appreciated even if it wasn’t entirely necessary, given that he could taste the difference on his tongue as Neville got closer to that edge. He redoubled his efforts, wanting to see and hear and feel and taste Neville as he came apart with his orgasm. 

Given that Neville was probably riding the biggest wave of his life at that moment, it did not take long. He let out a strangled shout as it crashed over him, under him and through him, leaving him for a moment utterly helpless to do anything but shudder and gasp as he came so hard into Draco’s mouth that for a second he saw literal stars, and his fingers tightened so hard in Draco’s hair that it must have been painful, but he had no control over it at all, his head thrown back gasping against the sofa cushion. 

Under the circumstances, Draco didn’t even care about the less-than-gentle tug on his hair. He was more focused on sucking Neville through his orgasm, and listening to the sounds he made as he did so. He could feel the way his thighs were trembling, pressed against his sides as they were. Draco pulled off only when he was certain that Neville was almost at the point of overstimulation, rocking back on his heels as he stared up the length of the other man’s torso again. Drinking in the sight of him in the glow of his aftermath had Draco moaning softly, his own cock twitching as he stared. 

“Merlin’s…” Neville tried, once he thought he had the space in his lungs for words, but he was only half right; he choked, not sure what he’d even been about to say. He looked back down at Draco and quickly loosened his grip; not quite ready to let go entirely, however, he kept his hand curled around the back of Draco’s head, his thumb a dark spot on Draco’s fair, flushed cheek. “Sorry,” he said, in a voice almost trembling with the lingering force of his orgasm. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” 

That apology had Draco concerned for half a heartbeat, as if there might have been something he wasn’t aware of causing some sort of issue. And then the question clarified everything, and he shook his head immediately in response. “No,” he answered, his voice a little rough, which made sense, considering what he was just doing. “Not at all.” Without really thinking about it, he turned his head slightly, pressing a kiss into the palm of Neville’s hand. 

“Good.” Neville swallowed. “That was… um… I mean, incredible…” His incredulous expression changed gradually to one of satisfied, dizzy amusement. “And  _ you _ were too shy to ask me to dinner?” 

Draco was glad that he was already flushed, so that hopefully the blush that formed at that question would pass unnoticed. “Apparently,” he retorted, moving back a little further and gasping softly as the motion reminded him that his own dick was still hard between his legs. 

There, that was the old Malfoy drawl on the edge of Draco’s voice - a bit of a relief, as Neville had been starting to wonder if he wasn’t dealing with a total imposter after all. He noticed the sharp intake of breath, and realised he was being slow - although in his defence, his brain was not running on full power for a multitude of reasons. 

Feeling bold, perhaps catching a little of Draco’s confidence, the kind he had never had for himself, he reached for Draco and tugged him up and back into his lap. Neville was strong, the result of almost daily training, and had several pounds of muscle on Draco besides; it only took a moment. The ease with which Neville moved him wasn’t lost on Draco, another tiny shiver going up his spine at the show of strength. Whatever he had in mind was going to be more than fine, he was certain of that, at least. 

Neville didn’t let Draco sit but tugged him forward by the loose waist of his trousers, so that the tent that had formed between his legs was directly in front of Neville’s eyes. “Should do something about this,” he muttered, almost giddily, and turned his face up to meet Draco’s, above him. “Hm?” 

Draco’s hands landed on Neville’s shoulders, gripping tightly as he panted. “It would be greatly appreciated,” he agreed, breathlessly, staring down at the other man’s face with wide eyes. None of his fantasies could have ever come close to this, and as much as he wanted to savor it, he also only felt that a warning was fair. “Whatever you do, it won’t take much.”

Neville grinned, rolling his eyes a little at Draco accepting an offer for sexual favours in the same way he might have agreed to free gift wrapping. “In that case…” 

He lifted his head as far as it would go without straining, and touched his lips to the skin just under Draco’s collarbone, parting them enough to taste with his tongue. Draco keened at that first touch of Neville’s mouth on his skin, even if the contact was nowhere near where his lust really wanted it to be at the moment. 

Neville had been secretly wanting to do this since the button-down had come off; there was something terribly inviting about the expanse of smooth, alabaster skin with barely any imperfections. A blank canvas. Draco’s skin was warm and just the slightest bit salty with exertion, and Neville made a soft, satisfied sound, his hands working to tug Draco’s unfastened trousers down to his knees even as he moved his mouth to taste a fresh patch of skin, and then, daringly, one pink nipple. 

Still clinging to the brunet’s shoulders, Draco squirmed to help the last of the fabric caging him fall out of the way. He moaned in response to Neville’s noise, and then practically squealed as he felt him latch onto his nipple. “Fuck, please, Nev…” he trailed off into a whine, too far gone to care about how needy he sounded at the moment. 

Neville felt a rush of satisfaction; he hadn’t realised how thoroughly validating it could feel to have someone react the way Draco was to something  _ he  _ was doing. He put one hand on Draco’s side to hold him close, and mouthed deeply at a new clean spot.  _ I want to do this all over him _ , he thought greedily, an image growing in his mind of Draco naked under him as Neville kissed his way up his thighs…  _ maybe another time _ , he thought, and then shuddered inwardly with pleasure at the idea that there  _ could be another time.  _ His hand found Draco’s dick, stroked it, exploring the unfamiliar feel of another man’s cock in his hand, strange and yet highly gratifying, as though it had always meant to be there; without looking he spread Draco’s precum up the shaft, greasing the way for his palm. 

Moaning again at the first hint of Neville’s hand on him, Draco couldn’t quite help the way his hips stuttered forward, chasing that touch even if it had only just started. His hands clamped down even harder where he was clinging to the other man’s shoulders, feeling as though he might just shake right now of his skin with how hard he was trembling. “Neville,” he managed to pant out, though he had no idea what he’d planned on saying after that, so it was just as well that another needy whine escaped him instead of any actual words. He felt his cock twitch and leak even more as Neville stroked him, as if to prove his earlier point that it wouldn’t take much to push him over that edge. 

“S’okay,” Neville murmured against Draco’s stomach, not sure what he was being reassuring about. “I’ve got you.” Draco let out a sound that was almost a sob at that, trying to press even closer into Neville and the warmth of his body. 

Neville moved his hand unconsciously the way  _ he _ liked it, an uneven, unpredictable sequence; slow, fast, slow, slow, fast… stopping for a moment with heavy pressure at the base before continuing. His hand on Draco’s side drifted down daringly to squeeze his bare ass, his fingers digging into the flesh. 

Keening again, Draco tried to give a warning before he toppled over that edge, but all that came out was a stuttering, breathless iteration of Neville’s name. His entire body tended and clenched as he came, his hips rocking into Neville’s grip, his release coating the brunet’s fingers as he stroked him through it. 

Neville took a sharp shaking breath as he felt Draco come in his hand, drops falling onto his chest; it was intoxicating. He slowed his hand but kept it moving, enjoying the way Draco shuddered over him, undone. He let go of Draco’s ass, running his hand up the other man’s back, over his shoulders to his neck, before pulling him down into a long, slow kiss. 

Draco had specifically not kissed Neville again, because he’d had the experience of someone getting very, very weird about it after what he’d been doing with his mouth just a few minutes prior. But he couldn’t help the way he melted into it, unclenching one hand from Neville’s shoulder so that he could trace his fingertips gently over his face. He was shaking with how good everything felt, pressing forward again just to feel the warmth and weight of Neville’s body against his own again. 

“Amazing,” Draco murmured against Neville’s lips, a grin forming on his own as he spoke. 

Neville noticed the slightly salty taste to Draco’s mouth, but he didn’t mind it; it only served as a reminder of those blissful minutes he didn’t think he would ever forget for as long as he lived. He licked his lips, his hand coming to a still. “At some point,” he breathed, looking up into Draco’s grey eyes, still dark with the lingering effects of his arousal. “You have to teach me how to do that… what you did.” He cleared his throat. “We  _ can  _ do this again, right?” he added, hoping he didn’t sound too desperate. 

The idea of the roles being reversed was incredibly appealing - Draco was certain he’d considered it previously, but there was a bit more weight to the thought when they were like this. If they hadn’t  _ just _ finished, he might have even tried to make ‘some point’ right now. As it was, that wasn’t exactly a possibility - and then he had Neville’s question to focus on. 

“Yes,” Draco answered instantly, meeting Neville’s eyes and hoping the other man could see the sincerity in his gaze. “As many times and as often as you want, yes,” he reiterated, letting that hang in the air between them for a moment before leaning in to press another soft kiss to Neville’s lips. 

“Mm,” Neville murmured happily against Draco’s mouth. “Sounds… mm… really good.” Draco nodded his agreement to that assessment, another grin starting to form on his face. 

The next moment, however, a sliver of doubt entered Neville’s mind, as he re-realised the image they were in; naked other than pants around knees and ankles, tangled around each other, his hand still sticky with Draco’s cum. “Wait,” he whispered, reluctantly, unable to stop his mouth brushing against Draco’s chin. “I… this is all so…” He swallowed. “What does this… all mean?” 

Draco felt his stomach drop at that hesitation, even if he couldn’t exactly argue against the sudden nature of things. Well, not so sudden on his part, and maybe he could leverage that in some small way. Swallowing thickly against the pit of anxiety in his gut - and trying to ignore the way he could still taste Neville on his tongue, Draco said softly, “I don’t know what it  _ means _ . But I do know that I want to wake up with you in the morning tomorrow, and as many days after that as I can. I want to take you out to dinner, and I want to listen to you talk about your plants or your day or whatever you want to talk about. I want to kiss you again. I… I just want you, Neville.”

He felt a little drained after that, and then had the thought that maybe it was too much, that he’d just word-vomited way too many emotions onto someone who, could, conceivably, want nothing more than a few no-strings orgasms. Draco closed his eyes, feeling a bit like a puppet with its strings cut, because everything now depended on Neville and what he wanted, and all he could do was wait for that verdict. 

Neville looked up at Draco with wide eyes, his heart pounding just as fast now as it had been with Draco’s mouth around his cock. “You really do feel that way about me, don’t you,” he said, incredulous, pushing a lock of hair out of Draco’s eyes until they opened again. “I just… well, I mean, I know we’ve been through this, but it’s still a bit hard to believe. You used to call me a lump,” he added, raising a pointed eyebrow. “And not just behind my back, either. What changed? I mean I know  _ you _ have, but…  _ I’m  _ just…” he gestured, vaguely, trailing off. 

Wincing slightly at the reminder of how terrible he’d been up until not that long ago, Draco pushed past that to listen to the rest of what Neville was saying. He frowned slightly at the implications in that phrasing. “Just… what?” he asked softly, except that it wasn’t really a question. “Just the bravest, kindest man I’ve ever met? Just funny, and sweet, and gorgeous?” Draco sighed very lightly, combing his fingers into Neville’s hair again. “You’re amazing, and I know I don’t deserve it, but I’m asking you anyway to just give me a chance. Give  _ us _ a chance. Please.” The last word was almost a whisper, his forehead coming to rest gently against Neville’s so that they were breathing the same air. 

Neville flushed and opened his mouth to protest against compliments he felt strongly that he hadn’t at all earned, but Draco kept talking, and he lost all the words. “Yes, of course I will,” he said, breathlessly, almost without thinking, and he could only hope that in the garish light of day when he wasn’t running on adrenaline and French wine, he wouldn’t regret it. “I already have.” 

Breathing out a small sigh of relief - even if it was temporary, Draco was already envisioning himself having to have this conversation at least once more in the sober light of day - he leaned in again, kissing Neville gently once more. “Thank you,” he murmured, hopeful that his sincerity could be heard in the words. Neville only smiled.

“Can we go to bed?” Draco offered quietly, suddenly exhausted and wanting nothing more than to lay down, preferably with Neville next to him. 

Neville hadn’t really thought Draco was kidding when he talked about waking up together, but it was nice to have it confirmed. “Sure,” he said, low. “It’d be nice to wake up in your bed when I’m not bleeding. Although…” he added, glancing down at himself. “I should probably wash first.” 

Draco chuckled, standing up fully and offering Neville his hand to help stand. “That’s probably not a bad idea,” he agreed. “This way.” He led the brunet down the short hallway, without letting go of his hand. “Bedroom is through that other door,” he gestured. “I’ll go find you something to sleep in.” Just the idea of Neville wearing something of his gave him a bit of thrill, even if he wasn’t certain it would necessarily  _ fit _ , given the differences in their stature. 

Wine or not, Neville did feel self-conscious even once he’d tucked himself back inside his underwear. “I remember,” he said, shyly, and ducked inside the bathroom. When he came out, damp-haired and pink-skinned from the hot water, there was a pair of loose pyjama trousers waiting for him. There was still a part of his mind as he put them on that wondered what he was doing, but he decided not to question it too hard. 

In the back of Draco’s mind, there had been a small part that worried that Neville would take the first opportunity to bolt, that the shower would run for half an hour before he went to go check and found the room empty. So he was very relieved when that turned out not to be the case, and he couldn’t quite help the way he stared at Neville as he stepped out of the bathroom. 

He’d cleaned himself up as best as he could with spells and the kitchen sink, because he didn’t want to waste any more time separated from Neville if he didn’t have to be. So he wasn’t as fresh, but he did feel entirely ready for bed, in a pair of pajama bottoms similar to the ones he’d found for Neville. “Do you have a preference about which side of the bed you want?” Draco asked from where he was perched in the window seat, reminiscent of that fateful morning. 

Neville shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand, watching Draco. It had seemed so strange, that day, seeing Draco Malfoy in night things and bandages, as though Neville couldn’t quite make the connection that he was actually human. Of course now he knew all too well how human he was, looking happy but tired and maybe - hopefully - as nervous as Neville himself felt. “I don’t mind,” he said, low and awkward. 

“Okay,” Draco agreed, pushing himself up. He found himself walking over to Neville like he was magnetically drawn to him. Reaching up to take the hand he’d been making that nervous motion with, he tangled their fingers together, tugging Neville gently towards the bed. “I’ve never done this before,” he admitted quietly. “The whole ‘sleeping next to someone’ thing,” he clarified after a moment, a flush staining his cheeks as he moved to settle into the sheets. 

That surprised him. “Oh,” Neville said, and then, after a moment, unnecessarily. “Well. Me neither. Though I guess we’re both used to sleeping with other boys in the room,” he added, as he slipped into the bed and, experimentally, shifted close enough that he could put a hand on Draco’s chest. “I snore, by the way,” he warned. “At least according to certain other Gryffindors who shall remain nameless.” 

“I lived with Crabbe and Goyle for seven years, I’m pretty sure nothing you’ve got could outdo the symphony those two could put on,” Draco quipped, smirking at his own cleverness for a moment, even glancing up to see if he’d gotten the same reaction out of Neville - and was hit all over again with the reminder that Vince was dead. The guilty weight of that hit him directly in the center of his chest, and Draco deflated, like one of the feather pillows back home, all fluff and no real sustenance. “Sometimes I get nightmares,” he offered in return.

Neville felt Draco shrink a little under his hand. “We all get nightmares,” he said, low, and stroked Draco’s side in what he hoped was a soothing fashion, acting once again on instinct. “You okay?” 

Draco rolled onto his side, mostly so that he could look at Neville’s face more closely and clearly. Trailing his fingers over the man’s forearm, he nodded. “Yeah,” he confirmed. “Better than okay.” He blinked, and found that his eyelids were harder to open than he’d expected. Smiling softly, Draco leaned in for one last kiss before he murmured against his lips, “Good night, Neville.”


	6. The Morning After

Draco woke up slowly, with the type of headache that indicated he was going to need a hangover potion, though it wasn’t nearly as bad as it probably could have been. Rolling onto his other side with a small groan, he frowned slightly, confused at the sensation of warmth in the bed beside him. He blinked his eyes open, hazily, and then froze entirely as he took in the sight of Neville sprawled out next to him, dead to the world. 

For a few long moments, Draco just stared, because even as the events of the previous night ran through his mind - and he blushed to remember some of the things he’d said in the heat of the moment and under the effects of the wine - it was still a little hard to believe that this was  _ real _ . Neville was sacked out on his stomach, snoring lightly; from here, Draco could see a starburst-shaped scar on his left shoulder blade, the one he’d gotten from shoving Draco out of the way of a curse, almost a year ago.  _ That _ night, and the following morning, were probably imperative to how they’d wound up here, and he was frankly still amazed that Neville had done such a thing for  _ him, _ of all people. That the man likely would have done the same for anyone else he had found in Draco’s position didn’t make it any less meaningful. 

He reached out, trailing his fingertips lightly over the scar, just once. With a glance over at Neville’s sleeping face, Draco leaned over, pressing the softest kiss he could manage to that slightly raised shape, just a little lighter than the rest of his skin. When the other man didn’t move a muscle, Draco just smiled fondly, taking another moment to just look at him, before pushing himself up and out of bed. 

Fifteen minutes, a very quick shower, and one dose of hangover potion later found him in the kitchen, tea already started while he rummaged around for ingredients for breakfast. Draco was, admittedly, not as good about keeping food in ready stock as he was about potions ingredients, but he was confident there was enough for him to at least have something to offer Neville to eat when he woke up. 

Apparently Neville slept deeply after a few drinks. Of course it might have been the exertion, or perhaps a combination of both, but when he finally, blearily opened his eyes, he could tell that he’d slept deeply and long. The bed was unfamiliar, disorienting for a moment, but the events of the previous night gradually came to him like a film being played behind his eyes. He smiled and rolled over, only to find himself alone in the bed. He sat up, confused, and as he did so a dull, throbbing pain started right between his temples. He groaned and pinched his nose, contemplating going back to sleep. But, as he heard a noise from somewhere beyond the bedroom door, he decided he could not lounge about in bed forever - as tempting as that sounded. Bones in his back and shoulders popped as he forced himself up, yawning, and padded over to the door. 

Seeing Draco in the kitchen brought back the intensity of last night in a way his memory had not previously been capable. Before the man could notice him, he leant against the wall nearby and crossed his bare arms. “What happened to waking up together, hm?” he asked, raising a slightly pained eyebrow. “You could’ve poked me.” 

Draco jumped. “I  _ did _ ,” he replied as he turned around, and felt his breath catch in his throat at the sight of Neville standing there, shirtless and in a borrowed pair of pajamas. “You didn’t move, so I figured I’d let you sleep a little longer.” The eggs in the pan on the stove behind him crackled, and he moved quickly to make sure they weren’t burning. “There’s hangover potion on the counter. And tea. And there will be food in like two minutes, assuming you’re as hungry as I am.”

“Oh.” Neville made a face and ran his fingers through his curls, which he had no doubt were in a tousled mess. Ought he have tidied himself up first before coming out, he wondered? Draco had clearly showered... he felt uncomfortably that he was failing at this already. Whatever  _ this _ was. 

He came over and downed one of the vials, feeling better almost immediately, if still a little cloud-headed. The potion didn’t even taste bad, which made him wonder if it was home-brewed - the store-bought stuff always tasted like piss, according to Seamus. “That’s not like me,” he said, while musing to himself that if anyone knew he was blindly swallowing potions made by Draco Malfoy, they’d have him committed to the Janus Thickey ward at St Mungo’s before he could blink. “Must have been the wine.” He reached for the teapot and poured himself a cup, hoping that it would make him feel a little more human. “So. Um. You sleep all right?” he asked, all awkwardness. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Draco caught the motion of Neville running his fingers through his hair again, and felt his own fingers itch to do the same. “I slept great,” he answered, still watching Neville in his periphery as he started to fork the food onto plates. “Do you… have any plans for today?” he asked, hoping it didn’t come across as obvious as it felt. 

Neville slid onto one of the stools behind the counter and sipped at his tea. “Well, I don’t have to be at work for another…” he went to look at his watch, realised belatedly that he wasn’t wearing one, and glanced up at the clock instead. He really  _ had  _ slept in. “Six hours,” he finished, doing painfully slow maths. The tea did help to clear his head, at least. “You?” 

Setting a plate of scrambled eggs and fried potatoes in front of Neville, Draco moved to make a cup of tea for himself as he shook his head slightly and said, “I don’t have to work today. And as far as I’m aware, no one is expecting my presence anywhere.” He took the seat next to Neville, his own breakfast a distant second thought as he offered almost tentatively, “Would you... want to stay, a while?”

Neville was suddenly starving hungry, but he picked up his fork delicately, rather than start shovelling food into his mouth in front of Draco, which could only be unattractive in the extreme. His lips twitched into a smile at what seemed to be uncertainty in Draco’s face. “I’d like that,” he said, thinking  _ there’s probably a lot we could do in six hours.  _ He gave his head a tiny shake as though still trying to wake himself up, embarrassed at himself. He tried the eggs to cover himself. “This is good,” he said, somewhat surprised. “Where’d _ you _ learn to cook?” 

Smiling back when he saw the expression on Neville’s face, Draco ate without much conscious thought, relying on the table manners that had been ingrained in him since before he could even walk. The question had him chuckling a little shyly, shrugging as he answered, “cooking’s not that different from potions. Chopping, mixing ingredients together at the right temperature for the right amount of time...” he laughed as he recalled the first time he’d tried to make scrambled eggs. “My first few experiments were pretty terrible. Inedible, burnt, gelatinous bits.”

“Makes sense, I guess,” Neville agreed. “I suppose that means I’d be terrible at it whatever  _ I  _ do,” he added, jovially, as he tucked into his meal in earnest, careful to maintain manners that would have made his Gran proud. “I’d never have pictured you in a place like this,” he said after a moment. “I mean, it’s nice, but it’s hardly Malfoy Manor, is it? What made you want to move?” 

Draco shrugged again. “There were a lot of reasons behind it...” he started to hedge, and then realised that was silly. “Mostly I wanted my own space, without Mother and Father hovering over everything I did all the time. And... I don’t have the greatest memories of the Manor, these days.” His parents would never give it up, but Draco still shuddered when he walked into certain rooms, unable to completely get over what had happened in some of them. 

Neville thought about Luna and immediately felt guilty. This was what he’d been worried about, the cold sober light of day come to remind him of all the reasons that last night had been a terrible idea.  _ Oh, Draco Malfoy _ , he imagined her saying, in her usual vague way,  _ the one whose cellar I was locked in all that time?  _

“Makes sense,” he said, doing his best to put that thought to the back of his mind until he was better prepared to deal with it. “I think it’s great, that you’re relying on yourself. Look at all the life skills you’re learning.” Draco felt his ears flush at that statement that was almost a compliment. Neville meanwhile sighed and made a face. “I should learn, but our cook would never let me in the kitchen. For good reason, to be fair,” he added, shrugging. “Hot things tend to blow up around me.” 

There was an innuendo just waiting in that statement, but Draco bit down on it, unsure if such an advance would be welcome now, in the sober light of day. “Food is a lot more stable than magical ingredients though,” he offered instead, pushing away his now empty plate. “Less prone to such violent reactions if something does go wrong. I’m not an expert, but I’d be happy to share what I’ve learnt.” That sounded a lot more ridiculous aloud than it had in his head, and Draco hid behind his teacup as much as he could, slowly becoming resigned to the fact that he was incapable of maintaining any sort of composure around this man. 

Neville sighed inwardly; he’d never noticed how adorable Draco was when he was flustered. He pretended not to notice. “Promise you won’t yell at me?” he said - only joking really, since two years of being bellowed at by Senior Aurors in training had pretty much cured him of any fear of being startled. Still, his five years of Potions lessons were still nightmare fuel for when his brain had exhausted reliving all the horrors that had come after them. 

Draco almost frowned at that, but it didn’t really seem like Neville was being serious. Still, it was easy enough to promise, “No yelling. I think I can handle that.” He kept studying the man next to him, storing away the mental snapshot of him sitting there like it was almost natural for him to be in Draco’s space like this. That long-repressed optimistic side wondered if maybe one day it could be, that maybe they could have more mornings like this, together, in the future. 

Neville grinned and finished off his eggs. “ _ I _ should do this,” he said vaguely, looking around the neat kitchen. “Get my own place. Everyone  _ else _ has. It’s just… well, even if I had the time to look for somewhere… it’s just me and my Gran at home. And our cook and her maid, but they’re not even full-time anymore. It’d crush her if I moved out. She wouldn’t say anything, but it would. I hate to think of her alone in that house, which is stupid, because she  _ was  _ alone, while I was at school…” he trailed off, wondering vaguely why he hadn’t just shut up yet. “I dunno. She’s getting older, and I’m all she has, I suppose.” 

“That’s very sweet of you,” Draco commented immediately, because it was, and as soon as the words left his mouth, he hoped they hadn’t come off as flippant or sarcastic or any other awful possibility when he was really just impressed all over again by Neville’s loyalty and kindness. “I’m sure she appreciates having you there,” he tried, unsure if that managed to sound any more sincere even if he did mean it. “I know _ I  _ like having you here,” Draco added, tentatively reaching out, since he wasn’t sure if he was still allowed to touch Neville at all, let alone in all the ways he wanted to.

“For very different reasons, I hope,” Neville said, chuckling. His fingers brushed Draco’s hand as it inched towards him, and he looked up into hopeful, anxious eyes. 

One of them had to say something, and since Draco looked like he might spook at any moment, Neville thought it might as well be him. “Last night was... amazing,” he said, with genuine feeling, his heart doing a little leap. 

Draco felt a tentative thread of optimism fluttering in his chest, waiting for the caveat:  _ but it can never happen again.  _

“And all those things you said…” Neville could feel a warmth rising in his cheeks at the memory. If he hadn’t been several glasses deep into that French wine he wasn’t sure he could have taken the bashfulness he would have felt at the time. He turned his hand, taking Draco’s properly. “I can’t believe you felt that way all this time, and I had no idea.” 

A matching blush immediately bloomed on Draco’s face at the reminder of all the things he’d admitted to the night before. But Neville’s fingers tangled with his were reassuring, the warmth of his palm against Draco’s own more grounding than the sensation of gravity beneath his feet. “I really didn’t think you’d want to hear it,” he said softly. “We were still figuring out how to be friends, right, and it didn’t seem like a good idea to throw… all of that into the mix as well.” 

“I get it,” Neville said ruefully, imagining the situation reversed and wincing inwardly. He remembered being fourteen and having a huge crush on Ginny Weasley and being utterly incapable of doing anything about it. He’d thought he was going to pass out after asking her to the Yule Ball. “It would have been a surprise, that’s for sure, but… well, I’d like to think I wouldn’t have handled it too horribly.” He chewed on the edge of his lip for a moment. “There’s just one thing - please, don’t be offended - I just think maybe it’s better if we don’t… ah… tell anyone about this. For now, I mean.” He sighed. “I don’t know about you, but my friends… well, there’ll almost definitely be a fight. And I’d rather… y’know, see how this goes… for a while, before I have to stop Ron from ripping your throat out.” He winced at that unexpectedly violent imagery, but he couldn’t help feeling the accuracy of it in the pit of his stomach as he remembered the look Harry had shot him, last night, just for  _ talking  _ to Draco. The Gryffindors would not be pleased. 

“I’m not looking forward to fending off hexes and repeated reminders of how I’m evil, untrustworthy and just not good enough for you,” Draco replied, with the slightest hint of a shrug of his shoulders. “And probably a few Howlers, now that I’m thinking about it. So, no, no offense taken, and no arguments from me,” he concluded. He’d deal with all of that, and more, when and if the time came, and gladly so, if doing it meant that he got to continue having Neville at his side and in his flat and potentially in his bed. Setting his teacup down, he dared to reach out, to comb his fingers through Neville’s hair like he’d been wanting to since the moment he’d seen the other man standing in the kitchen with him. 

“Can I kiss you?” he asked, figuring he might as well see if his luck was going to hold, seeing as the rest of the morning had gone much, much better than it could have, all things considered.

“You need to ask?” Neville smiled and half-leaned forward before he pulled back hurriedly, remembering that he had not so much as brushed his teeth yet. “No, wait,” he said quickly, “I’m disgusting, I probably taste like eggs and I haven’t even shaved…”

Draco beamed, because he’d gotten an affirmative response, and in light of that, nothing else really mattered. “Don’t care,” he stated, still grinning widely as he closed the distance between them, pressing his lips to Neville’s softly. 

Neville was legitimately resistant, as he was pretty sure that no matter how much Draco might have pined for him over the last few months, kissing him in his current state might well go a good long way to undoing all that; as soon as Draco kissed him, however, the resistance went away and he found himself leaning in again, enjoying the way Draco’s fingers ran through his hair in a way he hadn’t quite anticipated. “Mmm. Seriously,” he murmured against Draco’s lips, though he didn’t quite move away. “I should wash…” 

“Okay,” Draco agreed, though he didn’t pull back to make that any easier. He was grinning again, even if their faces were too close for Neville to be able to see it right now. “I’ll clean up here while you do that,” he stated, reluctantly drawing his fingers out of Neville’s hair.

Neville drew away. His wand, he realised with some embarrassment, was in the inside pocket of his robes, which were still in a messy pile in front of the sofa. He picked up his clothes with as much dignity as he could manage and fled to the bathroom, where a few charms made good of his overnight stubble and morning breath. He washed his face and rinsed his mouth, and regarded his creased pile of clothing with uncertainty. He wished he had something between formal robes and what most wizarding people would consider undergarments. In the end, he decided Draco would probably think it strangest if he came out in full dress robes, and just tugged on his vest and trousers, with a quick freshening charm for safety. He had no idea where his shoes had ended up. 

Resisting the urge to look further into the cabinets, he found a brush and ran it quickly through his hair, glancing in the mirror as he did so. He wondered, looking at his reflection, what it was about him that Draco found… what word had he used? Gorgeous? He made a face at the mirror. He was hardly  _ that _ . All right, he was a lot leaner and more defined than he had been at fourteen years old, but most of that was in height he hadn’t started putting on until fifth year, and he was still too broad in the shoulders. His hair was much darker brown now than it had been as a child; the same shade as his father, but it wasn’t particularly striking, like Harry’s jet black. His eyes, he thought, were entirely unremarkable, except for where an ugly scar split his right eyebrow and carried down over his cheek, a constant reminder of the Carrows’ lessons. 

_ Draco _ , he thought, was much more of an example of male beauty; void, as far as he could tell, of any real imperfections. Compared to Neville he was a Galahad of shining light, which he realised was rather ironic. He supposed girls talked about ‘tall dark and handsome’ men, but being generous he was only two of those, and sometimes compared to Draco he felt  _ too _ big, like an ogre towering over its unsuspecting victim. 

He rolled his eyes and gave up. He was over-analysing again, and wasting time. He went back to the kitchen, padding on bare feet and trying not to look too self-conscious.

The speed with which Neville gathered his clothes and disappeared into the bathroom had left Draco a little worried again. He was almost perpetually nervous about doing something that might scare the other man off entirely, and he kept glancing at the bathroom door as he went about clearing the plates and pans off the counters, setting them in the sink with a cleaning charm. His eyes immediately shot up when he heard Neville’s footsteps returning, and he couldn’t quite stop himself from smiling at the sight of him again.    
  
“Hey,” he greeted softly, coming around the counter, feeling a little foolish. Something about Neville just completely threw him off, and he was slowly becoming resigned to the fact that he was probably never going to be as smooth as he would hope around him at all.

“Hi,” Neville said, equally un-sauve. He cleared his throat. “Thanks again for breakfast.”

“It was my pleasure,” Draco replied, and even though it was true, he disliked how insincere it sounded. “I sound like a manners textbook, don’t I?” he asked, grimacing just slightly. 

Neville laughed. “Yeah, sometimes. I get it, I had an etiquette tutor too, but Dean used to make fun of me for  _ ‘talking posh’ _ , so I only really speak that way around my Gran and her friends, now.” He shrugged. “If it helps, you mostly only do it when you’re nervous. You really don’t have to be, y’know.” 

A grin started to creep in from one corner of Draco’s mouth. “Neither do you,” he teased gently, because if Neville could recognize that already, and call him out on it as well, then turnabout was fair play. “But your shoulders start to hunch when you’re feeling unsure, like you’re trying to make yourself smaller.”

“Well!” Neville snorted, crossing his arms. “You try being a  _ lump  _ until you turn fifteen and then suddenly being taller than everyone your age but Ron Weasley; it’s disorienting.” He shifted his foot on the carpet, self-consciously; he knew Draco was only teasing but he had just been thinking about how huge and ugly he was, so he felt the truth of it all the more. He forced his arms back apart, suddenly not sure what to do with his hands. 

Draco immediately drew back, pulling his hands back from where he’d been starting to reach out for Neville’s hips. Too much, too far, too soon - or maybe all three, and in the end it didn’t really matter. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, contrite, his fingers wrapped around his own, opposite wrists where the skin was scarred - a new, anxious-looking habit.

“Oh, Draco,” Neville sighed, feeling immediately sorry himself. “Stop it, I’m not  _ angry _ . I was joking. Sort of,” he added, tipping his head self-deprecatingly and shrugging. He noticed Draco rubbing his wrists and was reminded of carrying him through the dark, both of them bleeding, curses flying... how strange it had felt to be rescuing his enemy. He couldn’t help it if it occasionally  _ still _ felt strange. 

Lifting his eyes at the sound of his name on Neville’s lips, Draco nodded, because he thought he understood, but also because he was clear that he’d crossed a boundary of some sort. 

Neville held out an apologetic hand. “Come and kiss me,” he said, his face flushing a little at this perfectly direct request.

The offered hand, with those words, were beyond reassuring, veering quickly right into exciting. “I can do that,” Draco agreed, taking Neville’s hand and immediately tangling their fingers together again. He took a step forward, stepping directly into the taller man’s space. His other hand moved to rest on Neville’s waist, his fingertips daring to try and dip up under his vest. 

Draco tilted his head up, brushing his lips over Neville’s once as he figured out the perfect angle and then committed to it, kissing the other man a little more heavily than the brief pecks from earlier.

Neville closed his eyes, pleased that his rather rude gambit had paid off. At the moment he couldn’t care much less about manners in any case, even if he had been totally aware of what the correct conduct could possibly be in this kind of situation. Morning-after conversations, for some reason, had not been covered in his etiquette curriculum. 

He squeezed Draco’s hand and put his other around Draco’s bare waist as he leaned eagerly into the kiss, letting out a low, contented noise. 

Neville’s skin was warm everywhere it touched Draco’s own, and he couldn’t figure out if he should press forward or back to try and feel more of it. He was completely distracted from that line of thought by the sounds of the other man’s moan though, his fingers tightening against his ribs. Tentatively parting his lips to deepen the kiss, he did wind up pressing forward, the fabric of Neville’s vest brushing up against his chest. 

Neville felt Draco’s lips part and followed suit. He took Draco’s lower lip in his, just barely grazing the skin with his teeth, and after a moment’s hesitation let his tongue dart out for a moment to run across it. His hand on Draco’s waist curled around his back, holding him close. 

It was very, very easy to get lost in kissing Neville. Time slipped away, and the only reason he pulled back - barely, Draco could still feel his lips gazing against the other’s with every breath - was because the dizziness was almost too much to handle. 

“You have a decision to make,” Draco said almost casually. “Sofa?” he paused long enough to swallow past the lump in his throat before offering, “Or bed?”

It was incredible, the shudder that went right through Neville at those words, like a strike of lightning that struck just under his belly-button and he had to choke back an audible gasp as his cock twitched inside his trousers. “Really?” he murmured against Draco’s lips, unable to hide the boyish excitement in his voice. He hesitated just a moment more before taking a step back, tugging Draco with their joined hands back towards the bedroom. 

A smug grin formed at that agreement, as it were, and he followed Neville closely as they made their way back into the bedroom. There was something about the sight of the messy sheets, and the accompanying knowledge that they’d been sharing that same space so recently that just added to the waves of lust boiling in Draco’s abdomen. 

Slipping in front of Neville again, so that he was between him and the bed, Draco said, “If anything becomes not okay at any point, just say something. Please.” As if to punctuate his request, his fingers danced further up Neville’s ribs, shifting his vest up his chest so it could be pulled free over his head. 

Neville didn’t hesitate to let Draco pull the thing over his head so that they were both once again shirtless. Once it was gone, dropped to the floor somewhere behind Neville’s back, Draco’s hands meandered down his arms, from his wrists to his shoulder, where he latched on. 

“Promise,” Neville said, breathless at the implications of  _ that _ , and his head starting spinning as he wondered what exactly it meant. Something in Draco’s chest bloomed warm at that answer, and he felt a little emboldened by the trust Neville was putting in him. “Um. You too?” Neville added. He rather doubted that he would do anything unwelcome, out of ignorance more than shyness, but he supposed there was a chance he might do something wrong, by accident. 

“Yes,” Draco agreed, nodding just a little. He leaned up, capturing Neville’s mouth again for another quick kiss. When he pulled away this time though, he moved to descend to the mattress, gently tugging Neville down on top of him, his hips in the cradle between Draco’s thighs. Neville was all too happy to go, and landed with his elbows either side of Draco’s head. He felt for a moment that same disquieting thrill of power, unlooked for, that he had felt before in the moment of climax. Knowing that he could dominate Draco physically, even if he did nothing with that knowledge, jarred oddly with the internal protest made by his eleven year old self, that Draco was dangerous, that Draco was cleverer, stronger, meaner than he was.  _ I’m strong enough,  _ he told the boy inside, with confidence this time not fueled by alcohol but by the building sensation of need in his very core.  _ And he  _ **_wants_ ** _ me on top of him.  _

_ That’s it _ , he realised as he slid his fingers into Draco’s hair and kissed him hard into the sheets,  _ it’s not that I have power over him. It’s that he’s always looked down on me, and now he’s looking  _ **_up_ ** . 

There was something very thrilling about Neville’s weight pressing down on him. Between that, the fingers in his hair, and the way Neville was kissing him, Draco couldn’t help the small, happy moan that escaped him. He squirmed just a little, his back arching up so that his chest was pressed against Neville’s even more. His hands wandered over the expanse of Neville’s back, his fingertips tracing once more over the scar on his shoulder blade, almost reverently. It took more willpower than Draco might have thought to stop himself from rocking his hips up - but he wanted to enjoy this without rushing, and without potentially scaring Neville off with the evidence of exactly how much he was enjoying himself already.

Neville liked the sound Draco made, the way it vibrated against his tongue, the way he could feel a faint echo of it in his hand. Draco’s hand on his back sent a tingle under his skin; he broke away from the kiss just far enough to laugh. “That tickles,” he murmured, ducking his head to press his mouth to the underside of Draco’s jaw.

Tilting his head back with a grin so that Neville had more room to do whatever he wanted with his lips on Draco’s throat, he said in a breathy sigh, “Noted.” He slid one hand up into those tantalizing curls, while the one that had been tracing the scar moved to the top of Neville’s spine, the angle of his wrist turning the slightest bit so that when his fingers dug in, it was with a hint of a bite from his perfectly manicured nails. 

“I don’t mind,” Neville clarified, around a short intake of breath as Draco’s nails dug into his skin. He responded by scraping the other man’s neck with the edge of his teeth and sucking a circle of skin into his mouth, holding it there, tasting it, before letting it go, his free hand wandering down Draco’s side and under the waist of his pyjama trousers, fingers seeking soft flesh. 

Draco whined at the sensation of teeth and suction in such a sensitive spot, and the thought occurred to him that Neville might have even left a mark. He shuddered from just the possibility, before he was distracted by that touch migrating across his skin again. In return, Draco dragged his hand down the line of Neville’s spine, his nails scraping gently.

Neville grunted and found another spot under Draco’s adam’s apple, unable to stop himself grinding a little against him as he let his fingers explore with care the place where Draco’s torso met his thigh, the movements of his exploration pushing the pyjamas down a little. Draco arched up again, so that he could press his hips up into Neville’s in return as he felt the brunet grinding into him. Another soft noise escaped him as he felt Neville’s fingers teasing against that crease of skin, and he would have been embarrassed about it, if he’d had the brain cells available for such an emotion. 

Neville realised belatedly that he had gotten rather carried away with his own desires, and stopped himself just short of tugging Draco’s pyjamas off completely. “Was this.... sort of what you had in mind?” he asked, nipping playfully under the smaller man’s chin. “Or did I interrupt you?” 

“I didn’t really have a plan beyond the getting you into bed part,” Draco admitted breathlessly, the hand he had on the small of Neville’s back digging in slightly. “So I am good... with whatever you want.” 

“So this is okay?” Neville murmured, leaning forward again and increasing the pressure between their bodies. He could feel Draco’s hardness against his, through both layers of fabric. He would be lying if he said he hadn’t ever imagined what that would be like, but he hadn’t quite realised how good it would feel.

Draco keened at that, both the question and the action. “Yes,” he practically hissed. He wasn’t sure if Neville was being a tease intentionally or accidentally, but either way, it was spiraling his desire higher and higher. “Fuck, yes,” he added, squirming his hips up in counterpoint. 

Neville chuckled, despite the breath catching in his throat as the friction sent a wave of warmth through his thighs. “That’s better. Knew we could knock that manners textbook out of you.” 

The sound of Neville’s laugh made something clench happily in Draco’s chest, and he let out one of his own in return at the comment. “You’re definitely going to get something out of me if you keep moving like that,” he teased breathlessly. 

“Ooh,” Neville replied, grinning, as he ground down against him again, lifting his head and shifting forward on the bed so he could use all his weight. “ _ Very  _ impolite. What would your mother say?” 

“ _ Not _ what I want to be thinking about right now, Neville,” Draco retorted, but it lacked the venomous bite that his barbs usually held. But the change in the other man’s position meant that he could shift as well, and one of his legs came up to wrap around Neville’s waist. He tilted his head up again so he could look up at the big man’s face, grinning himself when he saw his expression. 

Neville’s mouth opened in a breathy sort of groan as Draco brought them even closer. “Uungh.” He supposed that was fair play after all, but  _ oh _ … he leaned down again and took Draco’s mouth, deeply, his tongue crashing past Draco’s lips to tangle with his, as he threw all caution to the winds and reached down to clumsily strip first Draco and then himself to the knees.

That noise sent a shiver down Draco’s spine even as he felt rather smug about being responsible for it. And then all of his higher thoughts dropped straight out of his head as he kissed Neville back. He groaned in return as the other man took charge, clinging to him with one hand on his shoulder blade and the other on his waist. 

Neville gasped into the open-mouthed kiss as his cock rubbed up against Draco’s bare thigh, and then both their dicks were brushing against each other. It was clumsy, all over the place, with their legs still tangled in their clothes, but he was only following his instincts, and he could only hope that Draco wouldn’t mind too much. It felt good anyway, without being so stimulating that he was afraid of losing control. 

In all honesty, Neville doing what he wanted - which really just seemed to translate into what felt good - was a lot more arousing than any clever moves specifically designed to get them off. There was no rush, no real pressure, no fear of getting caught, and that probably helped them both stay at least somewhat relaxed as they meandered together towards their finale. He was certain they’d get there, eventually, but this slow sort of exploration was maybe the best thing he’d ever experienced in bed with someone. Or maybe that was just Neville, it was hard to tell, and in the end, it all amounted to the same thing. 

Pulling away reluctantly, mostly for a quick breath of fresh air, Draco rocked his hips up harder as he moaned softly, “Nev, please.”

It wasn’t lost on Neville that Draco suddenly called him  _ Nev _ , and usually with a plea on his lips. It sent a little shudder of pleasure down his spine and a flutter in his heart that was only half to do with sex, and in that moment he knew he was in trouble. In the best way. Well, mostly in the best way, but he’d deal with all the inherent problems that came with it later on. Right now he was sort of busy. 

He reached between them and wrapped his hand around Draco’s cock, stroking, lifting himself slightly on his elbows so that he could watch Draco’s face. 

Draco whined as he felt Neville’s fingers curl around his hard length, his own hand scrambling over the other man’s shoulders for a few moments. He blinked his eyes open, staring up avidly at Neville’s expression as he moved to return the favor. Breathing heavily, Draco tried to match Neville’s rhythm, and he couldn’t spare the brainpower to be concerned about what the other man would be able to see on his own face, like the adoration that was probably more telling than the lust-driven need. 

Neville loved the way Draco’s kissed-pink lips hung slightly open as he breathed out his pleasure, the intensity in his grey eyes, the darkening spot at the base of his throat where Neville had left his own mark. Grunting a little as he felt Draco’s hand on him, he let his own hand stroke at an increasing speed, his thumb adding a little extra pressure. 

An inability to stay quiet in bed had haunted Draco for as long as he’d been having sexual relations. So he wasn’t really surprised at the wordless noises escaping him with every breath, and he was way too far gone to try and stifle them. He arched into Neville’s touch, his head falling back a little further, though he made it a point to keep his eyes on the other man’s face. Adding a small twist of his wrist with every stroke, Draco panted softly, “Fuck, Nev, close, please…” He could feel himself leaking over Neville’s fingers, hiking his leg higher around the man’s waist to help keep him as close as possible. 

Neville might not have had a lot of sex - all right, any sex - but if there was any upside to that it was that he was quite a good authority on using one’s hand to bring a man off. Draco, he was forced to admit as the oddly foreign sensation of another man’s hand tugging at him sent more and more urgent signals to his brain, was not a slouch in this area either. He wanted to make another crack about Draco’s foul mouth, but it caught in his throat, and he responded simply by turning his rhythmic strokes into a rapid vibration of his hand, growling in the back of his throat with determination. 

There was no way that Draco was going to be able to hold out any longer, not with the spectacular manner in which Neville was touching him. He shuddered at the sound of that growl, and before he knew it, he was spilling over Neville’s hand with a stuttering gasp of the other man’s name. The overwhelming waves of pleasure made him lose his own rhythm for a few moments as he rode it out, his eyes rolling back. As soon as he could breathe again, Draco redoubled his efforts to ensure that Neville followed him over that edge, his eyes popping open to watch the other man’s expression. 

Neville thought he’d never seen anything so arousing as Draco’s face, flushed and gasping, in the moment of climax. Riding the wave of triumph he felt at having been the cause of it, he let himself surrender to the increasing demands of his body to lose himself in the warmth of Draco’s hand, slick and smooth with his own precum. His own hand, still loosely tangled in Draco’s hair, tightened as his hips spasmed, thrusting into Draco’s hand and moaning as he came, loose curls tumbling into his eyes as his head fell forward. 

Draco was enraptured with watching Neville as his orgasm overtook him, staring up greedily, committing the sight - and the sound of that moan - to memory. He stroked him through it, his eyelids fluttering just a little as he felt that grip tugging on his hair. Reaching up with his clean hand, Draco combed his fingers into Neville’s locks in return, arching up again so that he could kiss him gently as they settled into the afterglow together. 

Neville groaned happily into the kiss before letting himself roll off Draco onto his side, grimacing a little at the messy result of their endeavours, but otherwise feeling quite content. “Got your wand handy?” he asked, grinning. His, he supposed, was still in the bathroom with his robes - it wasn’t like him to just leave it lying around when he wasn’t at home, but that was twice, now, he realised. Perhaps his level of trust when it came to Draco was higher than he had dared to admit even to himself. Whether that was sensible or not was an entirely different question. 

“Mm, on the end table behind you,” Draco replied, rolling with Neville so that he was on his side facing the other man. He grinned happily in return, taking half a moment to take another mental snapshot before moving to grab his wand. The motion pressed his chest into Neville’s as he reached over his shoulder, gripping his wand just long enough to cast a quick cleaning spell to dissipate the mess. Once that was done, Draco flopped back to the sheets, still grinning as one hand trailed lazily over the curve of Neville’s shoulder, because even now he still wanted to touch him in some small way. 

Neville was going to come up with something suitably witty to say, but from here, as Draco reached up to touch him, he had a perfect view of the other man’s forearm. All other thoughts fled from his mind. He didn’t know how he could possibly have missed it before; either the skin around it was so pale that it was almost invisible in the light from behind closed curtains, or he’d mistaken it for more of the scars caused by injuries from being tied up in the barn. But at this angle, the shape and the position of the mark made it all too clear what it was. He caught Draco’s arm in his hand - not roughly, but enough to hold it so that he could see. “What did you do?” he breathed, horrified. 

The sudden difference in Neville’s expression had Draco worried immediately, especially when that grip stopped him from touching the way he’d planned to. It took him a moment to understand what Neville was looking at, but as soon as he did, a hot flush of guilty shame washed through him. The Dark Mark was no longer the angry, red wound it had been in the days following You-Know-Who’s death, but the messy mass of pale scar tissue that was left was yet another guilty weight, a near constant reminder of the black stains on his history and his soul that he’d never be rid of. He tried to shrink back, reminded all over again of all his wrongdoings, and he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment to try and ward off that spiral for a while longer. That wasn’t something he wanted to consider at the moment, not when he had Neville naked and warm in bed next to him. 

Taking a deep breath and blinking his eyes open again, Draco kept his gaze on Neville’s face as he answered, wondering if this would be the thing that pushed the other man away. “It did it all on its own,” he said softly. “Probably something to do with the magic involved dying with… him. For the first month it was bright red and inflamed, like an infection. And then it slowly faded.”

Neville swallowed; he knew he shouldn’t be staring, but somehow he couldn’t look away. “But it looks like it’s been  _ cut _ out,” he said, his brow creased in a deep, horrified frown. 

He wondered how he hadn’t even looked for the mark before - had he actually  _ known _ Draco was marked, he wondered? Maybe he’d just assumed - either way, while it was a sobering reminder that the man with whom he was now in bed had once been an accepted and initiated member of the same hate group who had targeted and tortured his parents, not to mention causing the war that had claimed the lives of several of his friends… somehow it disturbed him more to see it like this, practically unrecognisable, scarred and twisted. “Didn’t it… did it hurt?” he asked.

Draco’s fingers curled in slightly, and he suddenly realised that he couldn’t move into any of the usual positions that his body usually took on when he was feeling vulnerable like this. With Neville’s hold on his arm, he couldn’t cross them over his chest, or grip at his own wrists, or any of the other protective type gestures he normally would. Swallowing thickly against the lump that had formed in his throat, he admitted, “I’m not sure if it hurt more getting it… or when it went away.” Neither of those moments were memories he really wanted to revisit right now, but Draco also knew that he had to answer whatever questions Neville might have, as if doing so were some sort of atonement.

Neville could think of a dozen more questions, starting with  _ why  _ **_did_ ** _ you get it?  _ But he realised that this was hardly the forum for those questions - not now. Besides, what was the point of forcing them both to relive painful memories? He wasn’t harbouring any blame towards Draco any longer, or he wouldn’t be here - though, he realised as he turned his hand so that his fingers covered the scar, and shifted so that he was holding the arm close to his chest, relaxing into the bed again, he had never said so out loud. “Sorry,” he said, low, looking into Draco’s worried eyes and he tried to clear the frown from his face. “I didn’t mean to remind you - it just surprised me, that’s all.” 

His chest felt tight, and Draco wasn’t entirely sure what was happening inside it at the moment. But he couldn’t deny that he was a little relieved when Neville seemed to drop the subject, and he allowed himself to be arranged however the other man liked. The only small change Draco made was to turn his wrist so that his palm was flat against Neville’s chest, and it was only after he’d done so that he realised he could faintly feel Neville’s heartbeat under his fingertips. 

“You don’t have to apologise,” Draco replied just as quietly. “I don’t usually let it show,” he admitted with as much of a shrug as he could manage while laying on his side. 

Neville could see why. He still wished he could have noticed at a more opportune time. It was hardly an ideal post-coital conversation, that he was fairly certain of. He wished he hadn’t been the one to so effectively reverse their contentedness; Draco had looked so happy, and now he was quiet again and small; the boy in the window from a year ago, before Neville had thought to look at him as anything more. 

“Draco,” he started, seriously, and caught himself, hesitating; what he intended to say were big words, as loaded and heavy as a vow, and he wasn’t sure how to start. 

Draco hadn’t realised that his gaze had fallen until he heard his name on Neville’s lips. He looked up at the other man’s face at the sound of it, a hint of a frown starting to form when nothing immediately followed it, but then Neville leaned across the space between them and kissed him, softly. Draco’s eyelids fluttered as he felt Neville’s lips on his own, because even when he was feeling as unstable and uncertain as he was, Draco would never be opposed to kissing Neville, or being kissed by him. 

Neville drew back and took a breath. “I forgive you,” he whispered, his hand shift to cover the back of Draco’s own, so that he held it between his hand and his body. 

Draco stopped breathing as the weight of those three words hit him, dead center of his chest. With wide eyes, Draco stared at Neville for a moment. His own words were no more of a whisper than the other man’s had been, but even with that, the tone of them was something close to reverent. “Nev… thank you.”

“I should have said it weeks ago,” Neville replied, low, “if not months. I’ve been holding it all over your head and calling myself your friend. I’m sorry.” 

Shaking his head slightly, Draco felt rather lost for words. “You haven’t,” he tried, because he was well acquainted with things being held over his head, and this didn’t even come close. “I don’t…”  _ deserve it _ , was what he was thinking, but that rather felt like he was spitting in Neville’s face, or refusing such a gift, which was the last thing he wanted to do. “I don’t know what to say,” Draco finished lamely, even if it was true. 

“You already said it,” Neville assured him. “It’s fine.” He kissed Draco again, just to punctuate his point. He was careful not to let his naked body press up too tightly against Draco’s; he didn’t think it would be appropriate if he got excited again straight away. “So,” he said instead, a little breathless and teasing. “What do you want to do for the next five and a half hours?”

“Are you gonna think any less of me if I say I’d be happy to stay like this and just kiss you for as long as possible?” Draco asked, entirely serious even if he did adopt the same teasing tone Neville had used. “Maybe eventually get up for lunch,” he amended, a hint of a grin playing at the corner of his mouth. 

Neville settled back into the pillows and the curve of Draco’s warm body, smiling. “Not at all,” he sighed happily. “That sounds just perfect.” 


	7. Lessons in Herbology and Other Things

Neville checked his reflection in the hall mirror for what felt like the tenth time in the last hour. Fortunately it was not a talking mirror, or it probably would have told him to bugger off a long time ago. His Gran did not hold with frivolous things like talking mirrors, so it had been as much of a shock to him as it had been to the Muggleborn students when the one in the Gryffindor dormitory told him to tuck his handkerchief more snugly into his sleeve. 

It was a rare occasion that he had the evening off, having done a night shift and slept half the morning, and Draco had promised to pick up his books from Flourish and Blotts when he was off work and bring them over. Of course, Neville could have gone and got them himself now that he had the time, but then it wouldn’t be quite so much of a convenient excuse. His Gran  _ had  _ noticed, despite his expectations to the contrary, when he had never returned home from Ernie’s party, and he had ended up telling her that he had had too much to drink and hadn’t wanted to Apparate, making himself out to be the responsible party. He hadn’t had a night off since, and since she was sure to be offended if he insisted on going out again rather than having dinner with her, his options were rather limited. 

Dinner being over, however - nice and early, the way Augusta preferred it - he was now mooching around the ground floor, in the Muggle attire he had taken to wearing when he was at home; dark-coloured jeans and his best jumper, trying to figure out what he was going to say when he saw Draco again. Since that morning he had spent lounging in Draco’s bed - while they kissed and touched and came to know each other’s bodies intimately - they had only exchanged a few owls, and Neville’s at least had been sadly rushed. It had been almost torture, the last few days, trying to go about his day while carrying around a secret that big and important, not to mention the places his mind when to when it wandered now. This had, at one point, prompted Ron to ask  _ who _ he was daydreaming about, and he’d gotten so flustered he’d dropped an inkpot, probably staining the floorboards under his desk forever, magic or no. Ron had teased him but his guesses as to Neville’s new mystery lover were so far-fetched as to be comical. Besides, they were all female, so Neville wasn’t particularly worried on that score. It was just irritating.

“I’m going to bed, dear,” Augusta said, on her way to the downstairs room they had moved her into only recently. It made no sense, Neville had argued, for her to be climbing all those stairs every day, and after some nominal resistance -  _ “I’ve been sleeping in that room for the last fifty years!”  _ \- she had relented, which meant that he now had the whole upper floor to himself. 

Her eyes narrowed at him as he nodded, distractedly. “Did you change?” she asked, puzzled as to why he would bother to change  _ after _ dinner rather than before. He had not wanted to spill anything on himself at the last minute, but she didn’t need to know that.

“Yes, Gran,” he said, quickly, smoothing his jumper down in front with the palm of his hand before he realised what he was doing. 

“Why are you loitering out here in the hall?” she demanded, frowning as she looked him up and down. He was a pretty terrible liar, to be fair, and she knew all of his tells. 

“For my friend, Gran,” he said, forcing himself to meet her eyes, or she would smell a rat. “He’s bringing my books. I told you.” 

“Well,” she huffed, rolling her eyes as she tottered off down the hallway. “I’m sure he’ll ring the doorbell. Do you not have anything better to do? Goodnight.” 

“Goodnight,” he replied, without really hearing the rest of what she said. He did  _ not _ have anything better to do. 

For a few minutes he paced around the living room and the parlour, but fortunately he didn’t have much longer to wait. As soon as the doorbell rang he practically flew back down the hall. 

Draco had actually gotten to pick up Neville’s books a couple days prior, and had managed to make sure his translation spell worked for all of them. A copy of it was tucked into the front cover of each book in Draco’s precise handwriting, just in case. It was more out of a desire to be helpful than anything else, but he now wondered if maybe that been too much, if Neville would think it insulting in some way, a nonverbal commentary on his memory - which was not at all what he was aiming for. 

He was getting more and more nervous as he got closer to actually seeing Neville again, instead of just exchanging quick letters. For days he’d fluctuated between giddy excitement from the memories of their time together, to a dark sort of insecurity about not being worthy of Neville’s time and attention. But his wandering mind always went back to the other man in his bed, giving him out of nowhere the gift of his forgiveness that Draco would never have had the courage to  _ ask _ for - and that overshadowed most of his fears, at least for the majority of the time. 

The day had seemed to drag by, and only the knowledge that he was going to get to see Neville at the end of it kept Draco from screaming in frustration. Then he’d dithered about what he was wearing and how his hair looked for twenty minutes after dinner, and then panicked that he was going to be late. So he wound up standing on the doorstep to Neville’s house in his usual all-black robes, with the books clutched carefully at his side as he rang the doorbell. 

Looking up when the door opened, Draco grinned almost shyly at the sight of Neville standing on the other side of it. “Hi,” he greeted him inanely, a brand new round of butterflies spawning in his stomach at being in this man’s presence again.

“Hi,” Neville replied, grinning rather foolishly. He stood there for a full ten seconds before he realised he was being an idiot, and stepped back quickly. “Er, sorry. Come in. How’ve you, er, been?” 

Neville’s grin warmed him from the center of his torso to the tips of his toes, and Draco didn’t even realize he was still just standing on the stoop until the other man invited him in. “Pretty good,” he answered, not bothering to hide the way he looked Neville up and down as he stepped into the house. “How are you? Work hasn’t been too crazy, I hope?” he asked, not really expecting a positive answer.

Neville grimaced. “When isn’t it?” he muttered, frustration edging his voice as he rolled his eyes. “You know it takes two years to get through initial training, usually, but they only started the program again last year, so there’ll be another year before there’s a fresh intake, which means all the old crowd who joined up again after the war are going back into retirement and we don’t have anyone to take their places. I just did three night shifts in a row, which I wouldn’t mind except it was coming off three day shifts and now my body has no idea what time it is or where I am. Oh and there was an issue in the filing department so now we all have to review all our paperwork from the last six months, so that’s been fun.” He took a breath, realised that he’d been venting and winced. “I mean, fine thanks, it’s good to see you?” he amended with a sheepish smile. 

Draco was perfectly happy to listen to Neville vent, even if hearing about all the troubles made his blood boil just a little. Neville did not deserve, in his opinion, the stress that came with a full-time Auror position he hadn’t even asked for. “It’s good to see you too,” he replied instead of voicing that thought. Smiling fondly, he held out the bag in his hand as he offered, “I brought your books. And the translation spell to go with them.” 

“I see that.” Neville gathered the bag into his arms, surprised at the weight. “Phew. It’ll take a while to get through all this. Thanks, you know I really appreciate it.” He smiled shyly and cleared his throat. “You, um. Want to come upstairs, for a bit?” he asked, hopefully.

“Yes,” Draco agreed immediately, grinning widely at that offer. He couldn’t even bring himself to care if it came across as clingy or needy, because he hadn’t seen Neville in days, and he hadn’t been able to think of much else in the time they’d been apart. 

Neville’s smile split into a grin in return. “Great,” he said. “Come on.” He glanced down the hall to make sure they weren’t about to be rudely interrupted, but everything seemed perfectly quiet. He led Draco up the staircase to the upper floor, where many of the rooms were no longer even in use, with the exception of his own bedroom and the old study he used to store things and do what Augusta had taken to calling ‘his experiments’. While the rest of the house reeked of traditional and modest wealth, this room was in an entirely different mode, and it was to this room he led Draco now. It had all the ancient furniture pushed against the walls, and one big, solid table carefully positioned in front of the window where it would get the most light, covered in plant pots of various sizes; both magical and non-magical in various stages of growth. His school trunk was tucked away unobtrusively in one corner, and his Order of Merlin, First Class, hung haphazardly on a peg over it. 

Draco wasn’t shy about staring at the house in general, but particularly this room. It seemed to emulate Neville entirely, and he could absolutely see how the other man would enjoy spending his - obviously rare - spare time in such a place, given that he’d seemed to have designed it for that express purpose. Taking note of as many details as he could, noting especially the plants themselves, Draco stayed close to Neville’s side, especially now that the door was shut behind them.

He watched out of the corner of his eye as Neville hauled the heavy bag of books onto another, clearer table and set about taking them out, briefly inspecting each one. 

The research assistant at Flourish & Blotts seemed to have done an excellent job of finding what he needed, Neville thought. “These look great,” he said, with a combination of enthusiasm and trepidation about getting through several highly theoretical books in a foreign language, several from the look of them having been written centuries ago. He smiled to see the translation spell in Draco’s neat, aristocratic handwriting tucked into each cover. The assistant had also attached a note to the back of each with a brief explanation of how it might aid in his research. “Oh, you might like this one,” he added, inspecting the third. “It’s mostly about Potions in the Eastern tradition.” 

Turning away from where he’d been looking closely at what looked like an orchid, Draco chuckled once at Neville’s statement, admitting, “I did flip through that one a little bit. Well, a little bit more than the others - the translation spell didn’t seem to have any major issues, though it does put the captions for the pictures in all capital letters.”

“Ooh, pictures,” Neville exclaimed, cheerfully. “Please tell me there’s lots and lots of them. Like preferably more than there are words?” He raised an eyebrow as he flicked through the pages, line after line of the by-now familiar runic characters. 

Laughing again at that, Draco shrugged lightly as he answered, “There’s a good amount of pictures, from what I saw. Maybe not more than words though.” He took another step closer as Neville flipped through the book, leaning against the table gently as he watched. 

“Oh well.” Neville grinned. Ordinarily he would have just piled the books up in the middle of the table; instead he made sure to arrange them neatly to one side. In the hope that Draco would want to stay, he had done some surreptitious cleaning already, and the room was already a lot neater than it usually was, though hopefully not so neat that it showed he’d gone to special effort. “I’m sure I’ll get through them eventually. Maybe I’ll aim for a chapter a night, or something; nothing like ancient thaumic theory to send you to sleep.” He glanced aside at Draco. “So, um. Been busy?” 

Shrugging, Draco answered, “A little. Work. Foundation stuff.” He looked over at Neville again as he continued, “I don't think I’ve been as busy as you though.” Tentatively, he reached out, combing his fingers into Neville’s hair gently, admitting softly, “Sometimes I worry about you.”

Neville smiled, though his brow furrowed a little in puzzlement, as he met Draco’s eyes. “You don’t have to, I’m fine,” he said, though he was perfectly happy to let Draco run his fingers through his hair. “Someone has to do it, right?” he shrugged. “How’s things with the kids? How’s Madison?” 

Biting down on the observation that ‘someone’ didn’t necessarily have to be Neville, Draco smiled softly at the question. “They’re good. Maddie hasn’t had any more reactions to magic. Hermione is planning a ‘movie trip’, although I have no idea what that actually means.” He didn’t remove his hand, too greedy for even that small amount of contact after not having had any for a few days.

“Sounds like you’re in for a treat,” Neville said, privately pleased that Draco seemed so open to trying new things in the Muggle world. He was sure it would only serve as a learning experience as it had for him when his friends had occasionally ventured with him into unfamiliar territory. 

“That’s what she’s trying to convince me of,” Draco agreed with a small nod.

Neville found himself stepping into Draco’s space, putting his hand on Draco’s hip. “I missed you,” he said, low. 

Draco beamed as Neville got closer, the hand that had been in his hair falling to rest on his shoulder instead. “I missed you too,” he murmured in return. 

“Kind of crazy, right?” Neville muttered. “One night and a day, and then not seeing you at all… I thought about you all the time.” 

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” Draco said, still grinning, smug all over again.

“Ron thinks I’m seeing an older woman.” 

Draco burst out laughing. “What makes him think that?”

Neville chuckled, glad that Draco found it funny. “Well, I was thinking about, you know, that night, and apparently I had a pretty transparent look on my face. He asked me who I was sleeping with, and I told him it wasn’t any of his business, which was the wrong thing to say because he took that to mean that I  _ was  _ sleeping with someone, and everyone our age we went to school with, right? So he started listing every girl he could think of, and when I told him it wasn’t any girl he knew, he assumed it must be someone older.” He rolled his eyes. “I think he thinks I’m some sort of… toy boy. As if I’d be into something like that.”

Smirking in amusement as he listened to Neville’s story, Draco brought his other arm up to rest on the man’s other shoulder, so that he was almost wrapped around him entirely. “I mean, I might technically be older, depending on when your birthday is,” he teased playfully, unconcerned by Weasley’s terrible deduction skills. 

“It’s in July,” Neville said. Everyone was older than he was, except Harry, and even that was only by one day. “Does that make me  _ your _ boy toy, then?” he added, raising an eyebrow and bringing his face close so that his nose brushed up against Draco’s cheek. If Draco wanted to tease him, two could play at that game. “Because in that case I expect some better gifts than a pile of old books.” 

“My birthday’s at the beginning of June, so maybe,” Draco responded, still smirking widely. “I think boy toys aren't supposed to work though,” he commented, turning his face just slightly into the hint of contact with Neville right there. “And I will be sure to keep that in mind.”

“Good,” Neville said. That was probably enough teasing, he decided. The kiss was soft and sweet and welcoming, and much more chaste than Neville would have liked, but he didn’t want Draco to think he was desperate. Still, he couldn’t help twisting a little so that he could press Draco up against the solid antique table. “Hi,” he breathed after a moment, satisfied that they had finally made an appropriate greeting. 

Draco wasn’t sure if the shudder that went up his spine was from the kiss or the way that Neville maneuvered him or some combination of the two, but in any case it boded well for the rest of the evening. And it washed away any lingering fears he might have been harboring about that first time being some sort of fluke. “Hi yourself,” he replied just as quietly, grinning against Neville’s mouth. 

“Mmhmm.” Neville grinned. He cleared his throat again and drew back, reasoning that if he kept this up it’d be a lot harder to stop later. “So. You, er… want a tour, or…?” 

It took a lot of willpower for Draco not to chase Neville’s mouth as he pulled away, but he somehow managed it. The offer brought another smile to his face, and he ventured playfully, “Sure. As long as it ends with your bed.”

A little shudder went through Neville at that, and it was all he could do not to drag Draco into his bedroom straight away. He thought it was probably a good idea though to wait until his Gran was well and truly asleep, just in case. “I think I could arrange that,” he said, soft and low. He stood back and dragged his hands through his hair in the hope of putting it back into some sort of order. “So this whole floor is pretty much my space, but there’s not much up here, just a bunch of old rooms covered in dust sheets. Lots of places for a kid to hide though,” he added. “You know, if someone’s chasing you to try and give you a bath, for example.” 

Letting his hands fall from Neville’s shoulders as the other man stepped away, Draco chuckled at the mental image of a young Neville hiding from the threat of a bath. “Were you just as fond of playing in the dirt back then too?” he asked, and it was only once the words were out of his mouth that he realized to hope they weren’t taken in a negative way. 

“Yes,” Neville sighed. It was too true for him to be offended. “Gran hated it. I used to sneak out to the garden whenever I could; drove her crazy. Not to mention the maids she used to send after me. I know every nook and cranny in this place that can fit an eight year old.” 

Draco smiled again at that, finding the thought of it adorable beyond words. He glanced around again, trying to picture what was being described overlaid with what he could currently see. Out of the corner of his eye, one of the brighter plants caught his gaze, and prompted him to ask, “Is your  _ shakkan _ in here too?”

“Oh, right. Yeah.” Trying to put a clamp down on his nerves, Neville turned and made his way over to the largest cabinet on the far wall. He opened the doors carefully; he hadn’t shown anyone the  _ shakkan _ yet, mainly because no one else had been particularly interested so far, but also because it was such an ambitious project that he didn’t want any condescension. “It doesn’t like the low sun we get in here, and it has to be really precise, so I’ve been using sunlight charms. Not as good as you’d get in a properly equipped greenhouse, but,” he shrugged. “It hasn’t died yet, so I must be doing something right.” 

Draco peered around Neville’s shoulder to examine it, careful not to get too close, since he didn’t want to inadvertently interfere with anything. The cabinet had been stripped of most of its shelves, leaving one in the centre which held a juvenile, miniature Japanese juniper tree. It probably didn’t look like much to the casual observer, except that its branches were painstakingly held in place with tiny loops of twine. A steady light shone down on it from above, and from a certain angle its leaves appeared to glimmer. Draco listened carefully as the other man explained, which he was grateful for, because otherwise he’d be very confused as to why Neville had such an important plant hidden away if it wasn’t for its own protection. It probably wasn’t actually as delicate as it looked, but Draco wasn’t about to take any chances. “It’s lovely,” he said softly, still staring at the plant. “Are you shaping it like a typical bonsai as well?” he asked curiously, even more impressed with Neville’s skills, between the  _ shakkan _ and the full table across the room. 

“So far, yes,” Neville nodded. “But shaping it is part of how you dictate what magical properties it has, so for all I know it could be all wrong. It’ll look nice though, if nothing else,” he admitted, daring to having just a hint of pride. 

“It already does,” Draco said. Reaching out to touch Neville without really thinking through the motion - because it had been a long few minutes since he’d last done so, and he wanted to, and he was still allowed to - his hand came to rest on the small of Neville’s back as he commented, “Seriously, Nev, it’s amazing.”  _ Like you _ , he thought but didn’t say, unsure if the other man would believe him on that just yet. 

“Thanks,” Neville said, happy to accept a compliment for his project where he might not for himself. Draco, he reasoned, was one of the few people who would actually appreciate what he was trying to do, aside from perhaps Professor Sprout, or Hermione. He reached out to lightly stroke one of the leaves, feeling the little bloom of warmth and comfort he always seemed to feel when he worked with it, and stood back to close the cabinet doors. “Wish I could keep it outside, but there’s no way I can be bringing it in and out every time there’s bad weather. I mean, it’s England, right?” He shrugged. “It needs a proper greenhouse, really.” 

Nodding along with that commentary about the weather, Draco asked, “Do you have room for one?” Given the rest of the house he’d seen so far, it seemed to make sense that there would be at least a little bit of land attached to it - and from there, it was really just a matter of figuring out logistics. Of course, he was probably oversimplifying it, but it couldn’t hurt to ask. 

Neville laughed. “Oh yeah,  _ room _ . You saw the house, right? More room than two people could ever need. There’s no way Gran’d let me build a Greenhouse in the garden even if I had the time to organise it. Anyway, seems silly to build a whole Greenhouse for one plant. The others do all right.” He bit his lip. “I had thought about maybe asking Professor Sprout if she’d keep it for me, but then I’d have to be going up to Hogwarts every time I wanted to work on it and frankly,” he said, turning back to Draco with a suggestive eyebrow raised. “Lately there are other things I’d rather be doing.” 

That didn’t entirely make sense to Draco, but he wasn’t about to argue or question Neville on it - surely the man knew his situation better than Draco did. And then he got completely distracted from that line of thinking due to the expression on Neville’s face when he turned around again. “Is it me?” Draco asked, a smirk starting to form at the corner of his lips. “Please say it’s me.”

“Well, when you explain it like that it makes it less of a witty innuendo,” Neville pouted, gripping Draco by either side of his robes and pulling him close. “Not all of us were born with your filthy mouth.” 

“I am pretty confident that you like my mouth,” Draco replied as he let Neville reel him in, sliding his arms up over the taller man’s shoulders again. “But, I will attempt to refrain from ruining your witty innuendos in the future,” he offered, already starting to lean into Neville’s space in expectation of another kiss. 

“Thank you,” Neville grinned, closing the remaining distance and covering Draco’s mouth with his own, this time a little more insistently, and used Draco’s robes to hold him completely flush against his body. 

Neville taking charge was as thrilling as ever, and Draco melted against him easily. He rather suspected the other man wasn’t fully aware of  _ exactly _ how easy Draco was for him - and he wasn’t quite ready to admit to it, no matter how much he trusted that Neville wouldn’t take advantage of that vulnerability. Getting lost in Neville for a few long minutes, Draco wasn’t surprised to find himself clinging to his shoulders. Reluctantly pulling back for air, he beamed as he requested softly, “Neville.  _ Please _ take me to bed.”

Neville grinned, deciding not to make a joke about wanting to show him some more plants. The truth was that he was at least as impatient as Draco was - and His Gran was probably asleep by now. 

“Come on then,” he said, and took Draco by the hand, leading him out of the study and down the hall. “Last stop on the tour,” he said, quietly, and ushered Draco through the door. This was the bedroom he had slept in his whole life, when he wasn’t at Hogwarts, though the little bed he had slept in as a child had long since been replaced by a handsome four-poster with a dark red bedspread to match the heavy curtains. He had cleaned up in here, as well, hoping that he wasn’t being presumptuous, and everything that usually cluttered up the side tables and the floor by the bathroom had been cleared away, the bed carefully made. 

Draco almost regretted having delayed their arrival to this room to the point where he didn’t have the spare mind power to truly appreciate being in Neville’s bedroom. Later, he promised himself, later he could appreciate and indulge and study this room the way he had the other - right now, all he needed to focus on was Neville as he turned to close the door behind them and drew his wand, casting a couple of specialised muffling charms. “There,” he said, turning his wand absentmindedly between his fingers as he turned back to Draco. “Where were we?” 

“Kissing,” Draco reminded him, grinning once again. He reached for the belt loops on Neville’s jeans and tugged his waist back in against his own. 

“Oh yeah,” Neville muttered. “That’s right.” He put his arms around Draco and locked his wrists behind his back before pulling him into another kiss, hard and fast this time, just as he had wanted to do from the start. He’d never had anyone else in his bedroom before, not even Luna, and it surprised him that it didn’t worry him, especially considering who that person was. It excited him instead, especially knowing that they were sneaking around - despite the fact that he was now technically an adult with every right to do whatever he wanted in his own room.

Sinking his fingers into Neville’s hair as his mouth was claimed again, Draco let out a small, happy hum. Even as he kissed the other man back enthusiastically, he dropped his hands to grip at his shoulders again. Despite having been hoping for this - or something along these lines, Draco didn’t think his imagination could ever live up to the reality of the situation - it was still a little hard to believe that things had worked out the way they had. That alone would have been worth being Neville’s dirty little secret, but he did also recognize the practicalities of it - and he had to admit that it  _ was _ better, not having to worry about other people interjecting their opinions on the matter just yet. 

Refocusing on the here and now, Draco trailed his hands down over Neville’s arms, and then along the sides of his ribs before coming to rest on his waist, his fingertips slipping up under the fabric of the jumper teasingly. 

Since Draco seemed so keen to undress him, Neville was all too happy to oblige. He thought he might as well get a head start, however, and he loosened one arm enough to come around and tug open the fastenings on Draco’s robes. “You’re insatiable, you know that?” he muttered, even as he toed off his own shoes and nudged them away. 

“I am aware of that fact, yes,” Draco agreed, letting go of his hold on Neville to shrug his robes down and off his shoulders, the fabric falling forgotten to the floor. “I don’t think you’re complaining though,” he added, not quite a question as he followed Neville’s lead and stepped out of his shoes. 

“Never said I was,” Neville grinned, reaching for the hem of his jumper and tugging it off his head, adding in the same movement the T-shirt he was wearing underneath. 

Grinning in return, Draco couldn’t quite help the way he stopped and stared at Neville as his layers came off. He reached for the buttons on his own shirt, glad that the motion was so easy he didn’t even need to think about it. Once that was out of the way, added to the growing pile by his feet, his hands came up, trailing over Neville’s abdomen. 

Neville only managed one more heavy kiss, fingers running through the short hair at the nape of Draco’s neck, before he caved to his body’s demand for more. He broke away, breathless, and tugged open the fastening on Draco’s trousers. “Show me something,” he said, looking intently into Draco’s eyes. 

Caught up completely in Neville’s gaze, Draco shivered at that request. His own fingers got tangled and tripped up by the button in the other man’s jeans when he processed those words. Draco swallowed heavily as he realized what exactly was being implied, and then asked, “Like what?”

“Whatever you want,” Neville murmured. “I… fumbling around like this is fun, I guess, but I want… to learn what you really like.” He bit his lip, and dared, “I could… try, with my mouth? Um. I can’t promise to be any good, though.” 

Another spike of lust shot up Draco’s spine at the thoughts that started spinning through his mind from that suggestion. “If you want to try that, there is no way it wouldn’t be amazing,” he said, because he was absolutely certain of that. It would be amazing because it was Neville, regardless of the level of technique. Leaning in, Draco pressed another soft kiss to Neville’s mouth, his fingers trying the button on the man’s jeans once more with a little more success than before. 

“Mm. Liar,” Neville growled, ignoring the nerves suddenly attempting to turn his stomach over. The voice in his head that always mocked, always told him he was useless, was doing its best to insist that once Draco found out how incompetent he really was, he might forget whatever feelings he had been harbouring up until this point. He hissed as Draco’s fingers dancing over the crotch of his jeans made him shudder, and steeled his resolve. “Show me,” he said, low. “Please?” 

“Okay,” Draco agreed quietly. He felt like he probably should have expected that initial resistance, and even now he wasn’t sure exactly how to avoid running into it again, at least for the time being. “Can we… bed?” he dared to ask, swaying forward like he wanted to kiss Neville again. 

“Oh,  _ now  _ you’ve run out of words,” Neville said, with a halting sort of chuckle. He ducked playfully out of Draco’s reach and fell backwards onto the bed, shifting back until he was in the middle, and beckoned. “C’mon then.” 

Draco took half a moment to take a mental picture of Neville and his gesture before climbing onto the mattress and crawling after him. With his eyes on Neville’s face, he moved into the man’s lap, reminiscent of that very first time, which he belatedly realized wasn’t exactly conducive to what Neville had asked for. Nevertheless, Draco ducked his head down for another brief kiss before asking, “Where do you want me?”

Neville bit his lip for a moment, considering, before taking Draco by the waist and rolling so that he was on top again, pinning Draco to the bed with his body. The sudden movement caught Draco a little off-guard, which meant that his hands were clinging to Neville’s shoulders again as he was rearranged. He arched up into the warm weight of Neville’s body over his own, his head tipping back as he felt the man’s hands on his skin, fingers running over the spot under his jaw where there was still a hint of a bruise. “Mm. Was that me? Sorry.” 

“Apology accepted,” Draco murmured, and then smirked slightly as he added teasingly, “And not really necessary. You’re welcome to leave more, if you want.”

“Yeah?” Neville grinned sheepishly. “You aren’t worried it’ll give you a poor reputation?” He ducked his head and pressed his lips to the spot, gently, soothing. 

“Not really,” Draco answered, a little breathless already. “I’m pretty good with glamour charms.” And even if he wasn’t, such a thing was hardly going to make his reputation any worse than it had been previously. 

Neville nosed at Draco’s neck for a moment with sympathy, but he was already enjoying the hint of a pant in Draco’s voice, and he wanted to hear it more. He wanted to drive Draco to the edge the way Draco had done for him, and preferably without making a fool of himself. At least, he thought, he could start with what he knew worked. He brushed his lips across Draco’s throat and down to his chest, stopping here and there to explore further with his tongue, one arm holding him up by the elbow while the other travelled slowly down to palm Draco’s groin through his trousers. 

Neville’s slow, careful exploration had Draco’s skin tingling, and he couldn’t help the way he squirmed under those ministrations. He was still holding on tight where his hands were gripping Neville’s shoulders, and he had the fleeting thought that it was possible he’d be leaving marks on the other man in return as well. Moaning as he felt Neville’s hand moving over his cock - there was no way he didn’t feel the way it twitched at such attention - Draco forced his head up so that he could look up at him, not wanting to miss a moment. 

Neville let his mouth hover over Draco’s nipple, since he had seemed to enjoy that before, and his hand rubbed slow and rhythmically. Doing this in his own bed, on top of his own sheets, was a thrill, and he tried to focus on that rather than how hard his heart was still pounding. He was already half-hard himself from the anticipation, and the delightful noises Draco made as he wriggled under Neville’s hands - Draco whined, high in his throat, as he arched up again, chasing Neville’s mouth. “Please, Nev,” he said breathily, not even entirely sure what he was asking for other than maybe for this to never, ever stop. He could feel his dick leaking in his pants, and he was certain Neville had to be able to tell exactly how turned on he was already. 

Neville couldn’t help chuckling a little against Draco’s skin; somehow he always managed to get that reaction, and he had to admit that he enjoyed it on more than one level. He looked up into Draco’s eyes, licking his lips with fresh nerves. “Do you want…” he started, trailing off as his fingers danced over the loosened waistband of Draco’s trousers. 

Another shudder went down Draco’s spine at the sound of Neville’s laughter, along with a small sense of smugness at being responsible for it. He let go of his hold on the other man’s shoulders so that he could prop himself up easier, resting on his elbows. Meeting Neville’s gaze - though his eyes did drop to his lips when his tongue poked out over it - Draco felt the goosebumps that popped up in the wake of the brunet’s fingers. “Yes,” he replied softly, staring at Neville with wide eyes. “Please, yes.”

Neville’s mouth went a little dry, which probably wasn’t ideal. “Kay,” he managed, swallowing.  _ Please tell me if I fuck it up _ , he wanted to say, but that sounded a bit pathetic even for him, and somehow the way Draco was looking at him with hot eyes made him fractionally more confident in his own abilities. He shifted downwards on the bed and used both hands to gently tug the rest of Draco’s clothes down and off, to be tossed carelessly to the floor with the rest of the pile. He had of course seen Draco naked before, but it still knocked the air out of him for a moment, seeing him laid out, flushed, on Neville’s bed, his pale skin contrasting sharply with the dark red colour of the sheets. He allowed himself a second to take it in before taking Draco’s hard length in his hand, loosely, and ducking his head to press his lips reverently to the inside of Draco’s warm thigh. 

Helping to kick off the last of his clothes, Draco laid back once they were gone, intentionally spreading his legs a little wider for Neville to settle between them. His heart was beating wildly in his chest, but he ignored the slight bit of anxiousness there to focus on grinning up at Neville, staring down at him. Moaning again as he felt those thick fingers wrap around him, Draco felt a blush stain the tips of his ears when he felt Neville’s lips on his thigh. He reached out with one hand, gently carding his fingers through Neville’s hair briefly before it came to rest on his shoulder again. “Nev,” Draco whispered, reverent, amazed all over again that they’d gotten to this point so suddenly, or at all, that they were together like this. 

Neville glanced up through his lashes, wondering if he’d made a mistake already, though he didn’t see how. Smiling as he realised it was just another needy vocalisation, he set himself back to his chosen task, brushing his lips over the soft flesh of Draco’s other thigh as he considered. How had Draco done this? He mostly just remembered stars bursting behind his eyelids.  _ Concentrate, Longbottom. You’re thinking about this too hard. _

Deciding he would deal with why Professor McGonagall’s voice was suddenly his sexual activity coach later, he held Draco’s cock slightly to one side in his hand and leaned in to lick experimentally from the root to the tip. 

The sight of Neville looking up at him, almost wide-eyed through his eyelashes from between Draco’s thighs was something that would stay with him for a good long while. His legs were trembling already, whether from anticipation or excitement he wasn’t entirely sure but probably a little bit of both. A noise that was almost a squeal escaped Draco as Neville’s tongue touched him for the first time. He tried not to rock his hips up and chase the sensation, but he wasn’t entirely sure he succeeded, and as soon as he realized how his head had moved, he forced it back up and his eyes to stay open, staring down at the other man again. 

The noise Draco made was rather startling and Neville had to look up again to make sure it was a good sound. “Do you mind?” he teased, raising his eyebrows. “I’m trying to concentrate.” 

“If you wanted quiet, you’ve got the wrong person in bed,” Draco teased back even as he felt his ears burn with embarrassment. Maybe one day he’d stop making a fool of himself in front of this man, but it looked like today was not that day. “Concentrate away, don’t let me stop you,” he added breathlessly. 

Neville grinned, emboldened. “I don’t mind,” he said. “Just say if you want me to do something different.” He licked his lips again and went back to work. Cradling Draco’s cock in his hand, he experimented with taking it into his mouth, adjusting to the sensation, the taste, the feel on his tongue. 

With another high-pitched moan, Draco flopped back to the sheets fully, unable to hold himself up any longer. He did his best not to squirm, but it was hard when Neville’s wet, hot mouth was moving over his dick. Neville’s fingers were stroking the crease of Draco’s thigh absently as he explored, short careful pulses of his mouth, as though he was daring himself with each attempt to take a little more, to hold it a little longer on his tongue. 

He was doing his best to respond to the sounds Draco made, the movements he made, but mostly he was focused on not letting his teeth get in the way. It was all strange, something he had never imagined himself doing, but he expected it would get easier with time, the more he practiced. That idea was exciting. He used his hand too, to make up for his hesitancy, stroking the base of Draco’s cock between his fingers as he licked and sucked alternatively at the tip. 

Between panting breaths, Draco could hear himself letting out any number of whimpers and whines as his back arched and fell almost rhythmically. He tried to press up into Neville’s fingers as well, all without moving so much that he interrupted the other man’s concentrated efforts. Already he could feel himself leaking against Neville’s tongue, too turned on to even think about holding back - and as such, there was no way he was going to last very long. “Nev, please,” he begged breathlessly, forcing his head up to look down the length of his torso at the brunet between his legs. 

“You’ll have to be more specific,” Neville murmured, lips twitching. He took the opportunity of the brief pause to wriggle out of his jeans; the pressure in there was painful after the effects of Draco’s moaning on his libido. “More?” 

Draco watched with greedy eyes as Neville disposed of the last bit of fabric, even if, given his angle, he couldn’t actually see much more of anything. “Yes,” he confirmed to that question, even if he was pretty sure Neville was teasing him again. 

Neville would have teased more, because he really liked seeing Draco like this, flushed and desperate and begging, but he wasn’t quite mean enough. Riding a fresh wave of confidence, he put his mouth over Draco’s cock and took him deeper than before, using his whole mouth, and establishing a proper rhythm. 

Keening softly again with the shock of Neville swallowing him down more than before, Draco couldn’t help the way his thighs tried to clamp around the other man’s biceps. “Fuck, Nev, close, please,” he whimpered, his head thrown back again as the waves of pleasure rose ever higher. 

Neville had been planning on continuing until Draco was done, the way Draco had before, but he was suddenly worried that he might choke, or otherwise find a way to ruin an otherwise successful experiment; he pulled back and used his hand, very fast over the wet slickness of Draco’s cock, using his mouth instead to taste the salt-tinged skin in his inner thigh where the flesh quivered in anticipation of his release. 

Draco came with a low, drawn-out whine, all of his muscles tensing as his cock spurted over Neville’s fingers, stars bursting rapidly behind his clenched-shut eyelids. Collapsing back against the sheets, he panted a few times, his body tingling all over with pleasure, and then pushed himself up onto one elbow, staring down at Neville with wide eyes, his mouth still hanging open slightly. “Nev,” he murmured, a grin starting to form as he reached out, tugging at the other man’s shoulder to try and pull him up so Draco could kiss him again. “Fuck, that was brilliant, get up here.”

Neville grinned triumphantly and obeyed, crawling back up on his hands and knees to fall back on his side, one leg hooked over and his hard cock brushing up against Draco’s stomach, and let the other man kiss him, noting to himself the way he could still taste Draco on his tongue. “Amateurish, you mean,” he muttered, rolling his eyes. 

“I said brilliant,” Draco retorted, meeting Neville’s kisses eagerly, trying to match his intensity even though most of his muscles felt like jelly. “And I meant brilliant.”

“I’ll get better. I intend,” Neville added, punctuating his words with short, intense kisses. “To practice… regularly.” 

Draco loved the way he could taste a hint of himself as they kissed, his hand sliding down over Neville’s abs to wrap around his cock in return. “You can practice as often as you’d like,” he said, starting to stroke him, genuinely pleased that Neville had seemed to enjoy himself. 

Neville’s breath caught for a moment as he felt Draco’s hand on him, though he wasn’t quite done being cheeky just yet. “I guess it’s not as complicated as I thought,” he observed. “I mean… it’s someone’s mouth around your dick… no matter what you do it’s going to feel good, right?” He grinned. 

“Something like that,” Draco agreed playfully. He was perpetually enchanted whenever Neville was a little more impudent than usual, especially when it was just the two of them like this. Twisting his wrist just a little, Draco rubbed his thumb across the head of Neville’s cock, trying to bring him to as good an orgasm as he’d just received. 

Neville’s stomach twisted and he gasped, his fingers digging into Draco’s side. To stop his teeth clenching around a startled exclamation, he leaned into him and kissed him fiercely, a low moan in the back of his throat.

Smirking happily at getting such a reaction before his mouth was claimed again, Draco increased the speed of his hand moving over Neville’s cock. He kissed him back just as hard, loving the way he could feel that moan rumbling through his chest into Draco’s own. 

Neville whined a little into Draco’s mouth. It had been worth waiting a week, he thought, in the part of his mind that wasn’t occupied with the waves of pleasure running through his body with every stroke of Draco’s hand. When he finally came, it was fast and hard and the only warning he gave was a shuddering gasp against Draco’s lips. “Fuck,” he breathed, his tensed muscles unwinding as he let himself collapse at Draco’s side. 

“Maybe next time,” Draco teased with a grin. He’d been watching avidly as Neville got closer and then finally went over that edge, absolutely storing the memory away to be revisited later. Leaning in to press another kiss to Neville’s mouth, Draco asked almost playfully, “Was it as good as you remember?”

The words  _ maybe next time  _ sent an odd sort of thrill rippling down Neville’s spine. “My memories of the first time are a little fuzzy on account of all the wine,” he admitted once he had his breath back. “But  _ that _ I’ll remember.” He shifted, leaning over Draco to dig around in the pile of clothes by the bed until he found his wand. Draco delighted in the feel of just this simple movement, loving the casual intimacy implied in the way the other man’s skin slid over his own in the process. Neville took care of the mess they’d made, put the wand on the side table, and relaxed again, content for the moment to lie naked by Draco’s side, basking in their combined, warm afterglow. “Can you stay a while?” he asked, quietly.

Reaching out to wrap one arm around Neville’s waist as he tucked himself in closer to the heat radiating off his torso, Draco nodded, smiling softly as he answered, “For as long as you’ll have me.”

Neville couldn’t quite believe how happy he was to be curled up naked with Draco Malfoy, of all people, but there was no denying it. For the first time in months, maybe even years, his mind was as still as a pond. The only thing niggling at the back of his consciousness was the reminder that as much as he would have liked it to, the feeling probably wouldn’t last forever. 

  
  
  
  
  
  



	8. Let's Go to the Movies

The first time Draco had ever seen a movie, he’d been as entranced by it as the kids he’d technically been there to supervise. Not that much supervision was needed, since they all just stared avidly at the screen the entire time - which was lucky, since Draco had been doing the exact same thing. And even though it had been a kid’s film (animation, she’d called it, which he still wasn’t entirely clear on), Hermione had also managed to find him a copy of the book it was based on, so he was now slowly working his way through  _ The Road to El Dorado _ . 

But the entire experience had been eye-opening, and rather mind-boggling as well. He wasn’t quite brave enough to try it again all by himself - but it had seemed like a great thing to share with Neville. Which was how he came to be standing on the man’s front porch in Muggle jeans and a cardigan, a wad of Muggle money in one of his pockets from conversion at Gringott’s earlier in the day. He was more than a little nervous, even though he was certain that the worst that might happen would be that Neville would laugh at him, which seemed rather unlikely, knowing Neville, and even if it happened, Draco enjoyed the sound of the man’s laugh, and being responsible for it. It was now mid-May, a month since this had started, since they had started finding a few hours here and there to spend together; mostly hurried evenings and one very memorable morning. He liked making Neville laugh, and he liked even more spending every opportunity to remind him how good he could make him feel. 

He wasn’t quite pacing as he waited for the door to open but it was a close thing. Even after all these years, patience wasn’t one of Draco’s strong suits. 

An outing into the Muggle world on a rare free evening certainly wasn’t what Neville had been expecting Draco to suggest for their first proper date (yes, their budding relationship was taking evolving in entirely the wrong order, but he wasn’t complaining). He didn’t mind, of course - on the contrary, he was interested to see how Draco would manage outside of the Wizarding world. Neville himself wasn’t highly experienced in the way Harry or Hermione were, but his Gran had made a point of acquainting him with some Muggle culture early on, so that it didn’t frighten or confound him the way it did to Pureblood kids who had more conservative families. 

What he had not quite realised while getting ready was that the outing would require Draco to also wear Muggle clothes. He had only ever seen Draco in robes, or what traditional wizards usually considered undergarments, or of course, nothing at all; this was different. 

“Bloody hell,” he breathed, slipping quickly out of the door and closing it behind him. “You… you’re wearing  _ jeans _ .” His eyes slid with both amusement and appreciation over the way they clung to Draco’s arse. “And a  _ cardigan. _ Now I’ve literally seen everything.” 

Spinning around at the sound of those exhaled words, Draco smirked slightly at the look in Neville’s eyes as he was appraised. “Does that mean you approve?” he asked teasingly, his arms held out to better show off even as his own eyes raked over Neville in return. He was as stunning as ever, though he knew the other man wouldn’t accept such a compliment. 

“Definitely,” Neville said, grinning. “Of those jeans particularly. I hardly recognised you.” He glanced up the street once before stepping into Draco’s space and kissing him. Draco grinned at that, until he had better things to do with his lips as he kissed Neville back. “At some point you should absolutely let Ron see you dressed like this,” he murmured. “His head will explode.” 

Laughing delightedly at that suggestion, Draco commented, “That is an excellent idea.” It might have taken him a while to come around to it, but in the end Draco had to admit that he actually really liked Muggle fashion. Aside from the aesthetics of it all, there was also the fact that it tended to be more comfortable and less complex than robes.

The nervousness he’d managed to ignore earlier in the day returned full force, an entire flock of butterflies spawning in his stomach. He let his hand drop, carefully twining his fingers with Neville’s as he asked, “Ready to go?”

“Yeah,” Neville said, with real pleasure. “I’ve been looking forward to this all week. I can’t believe  _ you’ve _ done a Muggle thing that I’ve never done. Do you think you and Hermione could start holding these excursions for adults, as well? Merlin knows I could think of some people who could learn something.” 

Grinning almost bashfully, Draco shrugged slightly. “Maybe,” he agreed. “The kids are pretty easy - they just sort of accept it and figure it out as they go. It seems to get harder the older you get. I didn’t have as much trouble as my mother, for instance.”  _ That _ had been a sight to behold, though Narcissa had been as calm and gracious as ever, even with her struggles. 

“Your Mum went?” Neville asked, with wide eyes. “That’s wild.” He hadn’t realised how dedicated Mrs Malfoy was to the idea of socialising Pureblood kids, given her previous track record on the subject, but he was impressed, credit where credit was due, and all that. “Did she like it?” 

“She went. And it was. Wild,” Draco confirmed with a nod, chuckling as he spoke. “I’m not actually sure if she enjoyed it, but she seemed to be glad to have had the experience, at least.” Gripping Neville’s fingers a little tighter, he murmured, “Okay, here we go.” And with that, he Apparated them to a small alley near the theater. 

“Smooth,” Neville congratulated him, once they popped back into existence, doing an instinctive check to make sure he had all his limbs. He was always impressed by people who could Apparate neatly; he wasn’t as bad at it as he’d used to be, but his attempts at Side-Along Apparition were almost always a bumpy ride. Of course the last time he’d let Draco Apparate him he’d been a little preoccupied. “You sure you know what to do?” 

“Mostly sure,” Draco replied, leading the other man towards the theater without ever letting go of his hand. 

“Who  _ are  _ you?” Neville wondered aloud, grinning as he let Draco lead him down the street, both impressed and amused by Draco’s confidence. For his part, Draco felt his ears burn at the question, even if Neville didn’t seem to be entirely serious with it. The differences in who he’d been in the past and who he was trying to become occasionally felt impossible to reconcile, and one of his deep fears was that even if he managed it, no one would ever possibly believe it was a legitimate change of heart. 

It was a delightfully warm evening and there were quite a few young people around. A few people looked askance at their joined hands, but no one tried to stop them. It was oddly freeing. If they’d have tried this in Diagon Alley, Neville would have been looking constantly over his shoulder in case they were recognised. Here they were just another couple, if an obviously non-traditional one. 

Draco absolutely would have agreed with that sentiment if Neville had given voice to it - the anonymity from the environment alone was encouraging, and he felt a little braver about trying things than he might normally have. He pointedly ignored the judgmental looks from the people who had some sort of issue with the way his fingers were entwined with Neville’s, because he really couldn’t care less what any of these strangers’ opinions were on the matter. 

There was a bit of a line at the ticket booth, which Draco led Neville towards. “Not regretting this yet, right?” he asked with a small grin, mostly teasing in tone even if he was actually rather serious with the question itself. 

“Which part?” Neville chuckled, teasing, and then amended to, “of course not. Honestly I’m interested in how all this works. What are we seeing? I assume it’s not the same one you took the kids to.” 

“It’s called  _ Gladiator _ ,” Draco answered, even as he shook his head. “Roman history has always been one of my favorites.” They shuffled forward as the line moved slightly. “We took the kids to see  _ The Road to El Dorado _ . It was fun. Hermione found me a copy of the book it’s based on.”

“That’s animated, right?” Neville asked, noting as he spoke a poster on a wall nearby with the same title written large across it. “Blows my mind how they do that, without magic.” 

Nodding, Draco agreed, “It’s pretty amazing, and I have no idea how it actually works.” He was interrupted by a small child weaving through the crowd, laughing as she went, and the sound of an exasperated mother calling out after her. “I was glad we didn’t have too much of  _ that _ to deal with though,” he admitted, tipping his head towards the little girl to emphasize his point. “Mostly they were all just wide-eyed and a little unsure of themselves.”

“Don’t blame them,” Neville said. “My Gran used to take me to Blackpool pier every summer, to the amusement park, you know? That was her idea of socialisation.” He grinned. “It was terrifying when I was really little, all those Muggles, the cars, the mechanical stuff.” He watched the poor woman chasing her offspring through the line with amusement and jerked his head towards the wall of posters. “The still pictures? Creepy. Still much better than isolation, though, all that leads to is forgetting that Muggles are just as human as we are.” 

Draco flinched, just a little, at that final comment - Neville probably didn’t mean it as an attack or an insult, and even if he did, it wasn’t as though Draco didn’t deserve it. “You’re not wrong,” he murmured in agreement, suddenly feeling a little bit humbled. He glanced away, looking over the line to see how much further they had before the ticket booth.

“Hey,” Neville said, sensing Draco’s sudden discomfort. For a moment he’d forgotten. He put a subtle hand over Draco’s cardigan, in the small of his back, reassuring. “I wasn’t talking about you, you know that. You’re making an effort to learn, that’s a huge deal.” 

Neville’s touch was grounding, and Draco appreciated it more than he had words for. He shrugged lightly, feeling as though anything he could say wouldn’t be adequate. “I’m trying,” he finally settled for, soft enough that only Neville would be able to hear. 

“I know.” Neville rather wanted to give Draco a hug, but they were suddenly at the front of the line. “You’re up,” he said, nudging him forward instead with his hand. 

As much as he would have preferred to have another minute to regather himself, Draco also didn’t want to hold up the line and draw any further attention to them. Pasting on the charming smile he used for fundraising events and work negotiations - which didn’t seem to impact the teenage girl behind the counter in the least - he managed to order and pay for their tickets without any trouble, though the change threw him for a little bit of a loop for a moment. Ultimately Draco just shoved the paper and the coins into the pocket with the rest of his money, careful not to crumble their tickets in there along with it. 

“Do you want snacks or a drink or anything?” Draco offered as they made their way further into the lobby of the theater, the large concession stand looming up ahead. 

“I believe popcorn is traditional,” Neville replied, grinning and nudging him a little with his elbow. It was so nice to relax for a while, not having to worry about werewolves or anarchists or paperwork or not falling over himself in training. He felt for once like the nineteen year old he really was, rather than the world-weary adult he was usually forced to be. 

Draco grinned in return as he agreed, “That is my understanding as well.”

Neville might have more experience in the Muggle world, but he had never been on a date before, and it was a different kind of excitement than the kind he usually faced on a daily basis; he liked it much better. “I’ll get it if you want?”

“We can get it together,” Draco offered, not quite ready to be separated from being at Neville’s side. 

“If you like,” Neville said, amused. They joined yet another line, and Neville entertained himself by looking at the posters on the walls around them and trying to figure out what they were about. “Dinosaur,” he read incredulously, shaking his head. “I mean, c’mon. How do they do that?” 

“They aren’t real dinosaurs.” He looked around, surprised, to see a young girl looking up at him with a dubious expression as though she thought he was a bit of an idiot. He thought it might be the same one who had been leading her mother in a game of chase around the foyer.

“Oh yeah? What are they then?” he asked, half humouring the child and half genuinely interested in the answer. 

“Compudors,” she replied, with perfect authority. 

“Dinosaurs made of computers?” he raised an eyebrow at her. “You mean like big old dinosaur robots?” 

“No,” she giggled, but did not offer an alternative explanation. 

Watching Neville interact with the girl had Draco smiling fondly at the memory of how wonderful he’d been with Madison at the hospital, especially with how frazzled Draco himself had been. Once she bounded away, he leaned in a little closer to whisper in Neville’s ear, “What’s a computer?” They moved forward with the line again, and as he looked over the menu, he remembered how chaotic this part had been when they’d had a dozen children with them. But, it had given Draco a much better understanding of the options available, even if he himself wasn’t particularly interested in any of the candy.

“Tough one,” Neville replied, cocking his head to one side as he tried to figure out how to explain a concept he couldn’t really understand himself. “Machines that can do lots of different things… something to do with the internet, I think. Better ask Hermione.” He was careful to keep his voice down, in case a Muggle overheard their conversation, but he didn’t think anyone was interested in what they were saying, anyway. 

Draco nodded at that, because quite honestly anything about ‘machines’ was still beyond his purview. And he had to admit that he rather enjoyed the softness of Neville’s voice, the way they were leaned into one another in order to not be overheard, even if it was more for necessity than anything else.

They got a large popcorn between them and made their way into the theatre where it seemed mostly to be adults. “Where do we sit?” Neville asked.

“Wherever we’d like,” Draco answered, starting to lead Neville up the stairs to a mostly open row. “Not towards the front though,” he added, moving inwards to find a pair of seats for them to claim. He sat down, leaving a few empty seats between them and the next people over, beckoning Neville to do the same. 

Neville sat down, looking around with great interest; he hadn’t realised how dark it would be or how enormous the screen; much bigger than anything he had ever seen in a shop window. “This is weird,” he whispered, conspiratorially as he settled the bucket of popcorn between them - he made a mental note to casually inform his Gran that he had eaten out of something called a bucket, just to see the look on her face - and craned his neck to see around. “It’s like a vampire’s funeral, or something.” 

Laughing softly at Neville’s comparison, Draco stayed leaning into his space as he replied softly, “Yeah, it was a little creepy the first time around. And before the actual movie starts, the lights will dim and then there’s advertisements for other movies that haven’t come out yet.” He’d been particularly confused by that piece, so he wanted to spare Neville that. 

Despite the warning, Neville jumped a little as the screen lit up. That was embarrassing; he hadn’t expected to be the one flinching at what the Muggles around them clearly considered perfectly normal things. He caught Draco smirking at him and tossed a kernel of popcorn at his head. “Shut up,” he warned, before he could actually say anything. “It just surprised me.” 

“Not a word,” Draco promised, grinning far more widely than he should considering there might still be popcorn in his hair. As the room started to darken, he reached back out to tangle his fingers with Neville’s again, never one to turn down the opportunity for such a thing. 

Invisible to Draco in the dark, Neville smiled as they held hands. The rush of excitement of experiencing real,  _ couple  _ things was difficult to describe or explain even to himself, and that combined with the novelty of watching enormous, bright images flashing across the screen had his heart beating uncommonly fast. The dinosaurs from the poster made an appearance, and he found himself staring, mouth open, as they plodded, life-size, in front of his eyes. The popcorn was almost completely forgotten about before too long. 

Similarly, Draco was glad the lack of light hid the blush staining the tips of his ears, ecstatic from the simple press of Neville’s palm against his own. Even with as entranced as he was by the giant images moving in front of them - though the sound was a little overwhelming still, he hoped that it dissipated like it had last time - he couldn’t help staring at Neville out of the corner of his eye, more enchanted with the view of his face than anything else. The lights above dimmed even more, and the movie itself started. Draco was quickly sucked into the story, and his hand gripped Neville’s even more tightly at the visual of hanging dead bodies. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, forcing away his own memories of similar things.

Neville didn’t know what he had expected, but he certainly hadn’t realised how violent, how realistically violent a movie could be. Of course he was familiar with the concept of acting, but combined with the camera work and special effects it was in places quite difficult to watch. He felt Draco’s hand tighten in his and he squeezed it back, for some comfort. “You okay?” he whispered, when there was a scene quiet enough that he could be heard if he leaned close enough. 

Grounding himself with the pressure of Neville’s fingers gripping at his own in return, Draco nodded, whispering back, “Yeah.” He’d explain later - that wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have anywhere that anyone else might overhear it. “Thank you,” he added in a murmur, unable to express how grateful he was that everything had culminated in this moment of them being here together.

Neville leaned across and pressed a quick kiss to Draco’s cheek before returning his attention to the movie. Draco flushed again at that, struggling to refocus on the story in front of them for a moment. He quite enjoyed the action scenes once he had reminded himself they were fake. The bloodiness made him flinch occasionally, but by the point Maximus revealed his identity and made his speech in the arena, he was on the edge of his seat. 

The movie felt like an emotional rollercoaster, like he’d sped through a sad novel that still managed to leave him feeling somehow settled. As the lights finally came up, and the long list of names starting scrolling across the screen, Draco found himself looking over at Neville once again, mostly curious as to his feelings on the experience. “What did you think?” he asked softly, as the people around them started to vacate the theater.

“Brilliant,” Neville breathed, realising that parts of his body had tensed uncomfortably, and he had to let go of Draco’s hand and stretch to relieve them. “I mean, it really felt like I was watching real people from hundreds of years ago. Lots of blood, though,” he added, glancing at him sidelong. “Not that the swordfighting and stuff wasn’t cool, and you know… I know it wasn’t real and those people aren’t really dead, but it  _ looked  _ real.” 

Giving Neville a small smile, please that he’d seemed to have enjoyed himself, Draco nodded his agreement as he pushed himself back to his feet. He stretched his arms up over his head, feeling his back pop just slightly as he did so. “I know exactly what you mean,” he said quietly. “It was… definitely an experience.” With a quick glance around to ensure they wouldn’t be easily overheard, he added, “It was a little more… grotesquely violent than I would have thought. Even knowing how bloody Roman history is.”

“Something to be said for realism, I guess.” Neville said, though some of the more bloody images still seemed to be replaying in front of his eyes. The bucket of popcorn had been emptied somehow and his mouth was very dry and salty. “I could use a drink,” he said. “Unless you had other plans?” 

“My only plans involved seeing how long I can steal your attention for myself,” Draco replied with a grin. “Shall we then?” he offered, gesturing towards the exit. “I’m sure we can find something to satisfy you.”

“You know you don’t have to steal my attention,” Neville replied, smiling back as they walked together out of the double doors. Draco tried to ignore the hint of a blush that came onto his ears again with that, but he did smile just a bit smugly. “I didn’t realise all that popcorn would be so salty. I don’t even really remember eating it, but I must have.” 

“Yeah, I almost regret not paying attention to it while I was eating it, but I guess the movie stole all of my attention,” Draco agreed. As they exited the building, he asked, almost tentatively, “Where would you want to go get a drink?” They could, obviously, make their way back to Diagon and the places they were familiar with, though that would mean losing the sense of anonymity that the Muggle world gave them. 

Neville was about to suggest going to the nearest bar, but he couldn’t help feeling that he had had enough cultural immersion for one night. “How about your place?” he suggested, one eyebrow raised, as they stopped outside. 

Draco froze for a moment, and then with a smirk like a cat who’d gotten both the canary and the cream, agreed, “Yeah, okay. I managed to get the name of that wine from Eleanor.”

Neville shook his head, amused. “Oh really?” he chuckled. “So either you really liked it, or you figured out what gets me riled up and decided to stock your proverbial cellar?” 

“Who says it can’t be both?” Draco teased with a smirk, which quickly morphed into the besotted expression he got a lot of the time around Neville. 

Neville sighed dramatically and touched his fingertips to his chest, clearly playacting, “I feel so used. What was it? The great wotsit will suckle us until we’re fat and happy and can suckle no longer?” 

A shudder went down Draco’s spine, a more intense version of one of he’d gotten the first time he’d heard those words in the theater. He personally felt that it was better when Neville spoke it, but he was aware that might be the aforementioned infatuation. “Something like that,” he murmured breathlessly, reaching up to tuck his fingers into the space between Neville’s. On impulse, he ducked his head briefly to press a kiss or two over the other man’s knuckles. His ears burned again as he realized what he was doing, but he still chanced glancing up at Neville through his eyelashes, cautiously optimistic. 

Neville smiled, suddenly bashful, and bit his lip. There was something different about being affectionate like this out in the open, where people could see. He reminded himself that no one knew them, it didn’t matter, but he still felt oddly exposed, especially when that look in Draco’s eyes made his heart flutter. He turned his hand so that he was holding Draco’s properly. “So… that drink?” he prompted. 

Nodding at that suggestion, Draco started to lead the way to the backstreet they’d first arrived in, gripping Neville’s fingers a little tighter as his other hand wrapped around his wand. The butterflies that always made an appearance around this man spawned in Draco’s stomach once again, and he pushed them away to concentrate on getting them back to his flat in one piece. 

They landed in the living room, probably the same spot, or at least close enough, where they’d wound up that first night. 

Neville smiled. “Nice,” he said, standing back and stretching again. “Remind me never to Apparate you, you’ll be checking you’ve got all your teeth after.” He looked around the living room, familiar to him by now after a few visits, and felt the hint of tension that had been building between his shoulders fade away. Was it strange that he already felt at home here? 

“I’ll remember that,” Draco commented as neutrally as possible, not wanting to disagree but also suspicious that Neville wasn’t giving himself enough credit. He smiled at the sight of the other man’s shoulders relaxing, beyond pleased that at the very least he could give Neville some kind of comfort. The warmth of their hands together sent a different kind of shiver down Draco’s spine, and with his other arm looping up over the other man’s shoulders, he murmured, “I promise I will go get you a glass of wine in just a moment, but first can I please…” He trailed off as he pushed up to claim Neville’s mouth gently, kissing him the way he’d been wanting and waiting for hours.

Draco tasted like butter and salt, and Neville knew he was probably the same; a different, unexpected dimension to their kiss. He put his hands on Draco’s waist, and then, remembering the jeans, let them slide down a little to fondle him appreciatively through the back pockets, which earned him a quiet moan. “You may,” he breathed, after a long moment of kissing and in his case heavy petting, and grinned impishly. “I seriously am thirsty though.” 

That was one of Draco’s favorite expressions to see on Neville’s face, so he couldn’t help grinning victoriously in return. “Okay,” he sighed, reluctantly pulling back. “Okay,” he repeated, taking another step, smirking as he took in the visual of Neville standing there. It took him another moment to turn around and move to grab glasses out of his cabinets. 

“Great.” Neville rolled his shoulders and shrugged out of his jacket, putting it on the back of a nearby chair. It left him in just a dark grey tee that was almost definitely too small for him; he had pulled it out of the back of a drawer recently and hesitated to throw it away; he would certainly never wear it in polite company, but he rather thought Draco would appreciate it. He let himself fall back onto the sofa, lounging back on it and smiling as he enjoyed the sense memory of the first time he had done so. He kicked off his shoes and settled into one corner with one leg tucked underneath him, making himself comfortable as he watched Draco pour the wine. 

Deliberately not glancing over at the other man until he was starting to make his way back over, a full glass of wine in each hand, Draco just barely managed not to stop short or trip over his own feet as he caught sight of how relaxed against the pillows Neville was. Between the fact that he’d gotten rid of the jacket and how laid back he looked, Draco almost felt a little overwhelmed. Stepping out of his shoes as he walked into the living room, he carefully plopped himself down next to Neville, closer than was probably technically polite. He held out one of the glasses, unable to help the way he was staring. 

“What?” Neville asked he accepted the glass, starting to wonder if the tight shirt had been a miscalculation - maybe he looked ridiculous. He was used for dressing to be comfortable, not to impress, so it was entirely possible he’d made a misstep. He glanced down at himself quickly. “Why are you looking at me like that?” 

Dragging his eyes back to Neville’s face, grinning a little sheepishly at being caught staring, Draco admitted, “I was thinking that it was a good thing you kept the jacket on at the theater, or we might not have made it to the movie.” 

It took Neville a second to figure this out, after which he flushed a little and smiled shyly. “Glad you like it,” he said, and clinked his glass carefully against the one in Draco’s hand before taking a long refreshing sip. 

Smirking at that reaction, Draco belatedly lifted his own glass to his lips, more grateful than he would have thought for any liquid after having eaten so much salt and butter. “I think it’s safe to say that we learnt to get something to drink to go along with the popcorn,” he offered into the space between them, however minimal it might be. 

“Well,” Neville smiled. “At least we learned something. I’m not sure how educational the actual movie was.” He sipped some more wine. “My tutor never went into much detail on that period of history.” 

Draco chuckled at that observation, saying, “I’m pretty sure mine was just glad I was finally showing an interest in something history-related.” He paused for his own sip of wine before adding, “It’s actually a very fascinating subject, when it’s not Binns droning on in the same monotone for hours on end.”

“Oh Merlin, anything but the goblin wars,” Neville rolled his eyes. “Maybe they should make a film about that, might actually make it bearable.” He grinned. “Actually I heard McGonagall’s putting her foot down about him next year. Trying to implement a more well-rounded curriculum, and if he won’t do it, hiring someone else. His sense of time is so off by now he probably won’t notice if he’s not asked to teach more than one class a month.” 

“I hope the students appreciate the change,” Draco commented. “Merlin knows anything is better than what we had to sit through...” He paused, the way he tended to do whenever Hogwarts was the topic of conversation in more than just passing. There was a spiral waiting there, guilt and shame and self-loathing, and nothing that he wanted to fall into while Neville was sitting next to him. 

Neville noticed it too, a tension in the air between them. “We don’t talk about school much, do we,” he said, smiling wryly. He knew why, of course, but it seemed silly to ignore seven years of their lives just to avoid discomfort. They were going to have to face it sooner or later, after all, especially if and when other people became aware of their entanglement. 

“No...” Draco agreed softly, shrugging lightly. “Sometimes it feels like I’m going to spend the rest of my life trying to make up for being a shitty kid who made really bad choices.” When he’d had choices at all, he thought but didn’t say, raising his glass to his lips instead. 

“Hey,” Neville said softly, nudging Draco with his foot. “We’ve been through this. I forgive you. We should be able to at least talk about Hogwarts occasionally. We can’t just pretend it didn’t happen.” 

Feeling the tips of his ears burn again at that reminder, Draco admittedly quietly, “I don’t want to bring up anything that might make you regret that though.” Or regret agreeing to this, which they still hadn’t defined, but that was definitely a conversation Draco was fine with postponing until a later date. 

“You didn’t,” Neville promised.  _ Not yet _ , Draco’s pessimistic side muttered, but he obviously didn’t give voice to that thought. “We can talk about History of Magic. Although,” he added, half-joking, “we should probably steer clear of Potions, if you don’t want me having traumatic flashbacks.” The less said about their last year, the better of course, but he felt that that was already an unspoken agreement between them. 

“I can do that,” Draco responded with a small nod. “Charms is probably safe. And Transfiguration,” he mused, keeping his eyes on Neville to gauge how accurate his guesses were. “Once upon a time, I thought it would be very interesting to try and become an Animagus.”

“Uh-huh,” Neville agreed, pressing his lips together. “Er… you mean until you got turned into a ferret and bounced down the hall?” 

“Yeah, pretty much.” Aside from the indignity of it, the sensation of being  _ too small  _ was still a concept that occasionally snuck into his nightmares, when his brain decided to deviate from all the other possibilities it had for those. 

“Makes sense,” Neville nodded, still trying not to laugh. “You could still try, I guess, if you were still interested. I wouldn’t dare; I’d end up growing a permanent tail, or something. I was rubbish at Transfiguration.” 

“It’s not as fascinating now as it seemed back then,” Draco admitted with another small shrug of his shoulders. “And there are worse things to sprout than a tail,” he said consideringly. “Tell me about Herbology then, because I know you excelled in that back then too.”

Neville made a face. “Aw, c’mon, you don’t want me spouting about Herbology. I could bore anyone to tears that way.” He took another long sip of his wine. “Although… sometimes I do think about at least taking the NEWT. Be nice to have at least one, right?” he shrugged. “I could take it this year, it’s only a few weeks away. But I don’t have time to study even if I could get the time off for the tests.” 

Draco restrained himself from rolling his eyes, if only because he didn’t want Neville to take it the wrong way if he caught sight of the expression. Ignoring the irritation that was part and parcel of being reminded about Neville’s stupidly stressful working environment, Draco asked curiously, “Is that the only one you’d want to take?”

Neville shrugged, settling even further back into the cushions. “S’the only one I’m any good at,” he said. “And I sort of get enough of Defence Against the Dark Arts on a daily basis, thanks. What about you? You ever regret missing the exams?” 

The casual manner with which Neville put himself down struck Draco deeply with how utterly wrong it was, but he didn’t think that was a great topic to voice at the moment. “Not really. All it shows is an ability to retain and regurgitate information on command, and an ability to perform spells for an audience.” 

“And qualify you for jobs, etcetera,” Neville pointed out, raising an eyebrow and draining his glass, putting it aside. “Not that I want to be a Cursebreaker, or anything, but I’d need an NEWT in Herbology to get a grant, for example, if I wanted to publicise the  _ shakkan  _ project.” Not that he’d ever thought about it. At all. “Or publish a paper…” 

Draco was pretty sure no respectable employer would take him even if he had all the NEWTs in the world, but that was probably neither here nor there at the moment. “Nev, if you wanted to write a paper, I’m sure they’d been falling over each other to publish it, NEWT or not,” he commented, raising one of his own eyebrows in return before polishing off his drink and setting the empty glass down. 

Neville snorted at the naïveté of that statement, adorable as it was. “You know not everyone likes me as much as you do,” he said fondly. 

Draco wavered between responding with ‘ _ they should’ _ or the even more ridiculous, ‘ _ no one likes you as much as I do’ _ , but then Neville continued before he had a chance to voice either of them, which might have been for the best. “The Herbology Journal certainly doesn’t count ‘leader of a child army’ among its prerequisites for publication, if that’s what you mean.” Neville sighed ruefully and forced a smile. “Never mind, it’s all moot anyway. Forget I mentioned it.”

The memory of Neville with a bloody sword in his hands, standing over the corpse of that awful snake, jumped to the forefront of Draco’s mind. It was sort of what he’d meant, because the man  _ was _ a hero, whether he acknowledged it or not, but Draco rather felt like he’d inadvertently stepped into a minefield with this topic in some way, and he wanted to get back to safer ground. 

“Okay,” he agreed softly, letting it go, though he knew he wasn’t going to forget this conversation anytime soon. Tentatively, Draco reached out, combing his fingers into Neville’s hair gently. 

Neville hadn’t meant to bring up the kinds of ideas and dreams he sometimes had when imagining a time when he wasn’t entirely occupied by the Aurors, a career he had never wanted and had never intended to stay in for longer than a few months. He was all too glad to drop the topic, even if he felt that he had upset Draco somehow, and didn’t feel like reopening it. He turned his head into Draco’s hand, enjoying the feel of those fine-boned fingers running lightly across his scalp. “I need a haircut,” he murmured, vaguely, enjoying the slight buzz emanating from his stomach, the effects of the wine. 

“I would disagree with that assessment,” Draco replied just as softly, a hint of a grin playing at the corner of his lips. It wasn’t as though he’d be any less attracted to Neville if his hair was shorter, but he rather liked being able to do this, and he thought that might be a little more difficult if some or most of his locks were shorn off. Neville smiled.

“Do you think we managed to have a successful date?” Draco asked after a moment, wondering if it was obvious how invested he was in Neville’s answer. 

“I’d say so,” Neville nodded after a moment’s assessment. “Not that I have anything to compare it to,” he admitted, awkwardly. 

“I haven’t been on one since… fourth year,” Draco admitted in return, shrugging lightly as he continued, “It feels very different from what I remember.” Which, again, might just be Neville. 

“Really?” Neville made a doubtful, puzzled face. “But… I thought… I mean, you’ve had boyfriends, right?” He suddenly regretted not asking this before; he had only assumed based on the fact that Draco seemed so much more sexually experienced than he was. 

“I have had… sexual partners of the male persuasion,” Draco replied, his shoulders hunching a little shyly. “None of them were actually interested in dating me.” He forcefully shoved away the memory of Blaise’s haughty expression at the end of fifth year, before his life had turned upside down and he’d had bigger things to worry about. 

“Oh.” Neville felt a bit stupid for assuming. He thought he ought to say something else, but he was a little puzzled still. Of course he could see why the people in  _ his _ circles wouldn’t be interested in Draco Malfoy, but surely there were others who would have. He was attractive, and rich; surely even these superficial concerns would impress people who cared about such things. “Sorry, I didn’t mean… it  _ was _ a good date,” he said finally, trying to push past the awkwardness. 

Shaking his head at Neville’s unnecessary apology, Draco smiled softly at that assertion. “It was,” he agreed, finally having the courage to look back at Neville as he added, “Although I suppose technically it’s not over yet.”

Neville chuckled. “No, I guess not. We’ve got time. I don’t turn into a pumpkin until midnight.” He reached for Draco’s cardigan, curling his fingers into the fabric. “Or whatever.” 

Draco beamed, both at the comment and the way Neville was drawing him in. Leaning in easily to be maneuvered or positioned however the other man wanted, he murmured a little nonsensically, “No pumpkins here,” before pushing himself forward just enough to press another kiss to Neville’s lips. 

Neville hummed happily against Draco’s lips and tipped his own head up, opening his mouth to deepen the kiss, drawing Draco further forward until he was draped over the top of him, where he could fiddle subtly with the cardigan’s delicate buttons. It was soft, gentle, familiar, a far cry from the clumsy exploratory nature of the first time or the frantic, furious tearing of clothes on subsequent occasions, when they had not seen each other in several days and lustful desperation overtook the desire for drawn-out foreplay. It was nice in a different way, a steady, soothing reintroduction. 

With a pleased hum of his own, Draco didn’t hesitate to accept that unspoken offer, dipping his tongue into Neville’s mouth as their kiss deepened and he was rearranged to Neville's liking. A small shudder went down his spine as he felt the calm, methodical manner with which Neville was starting to disrobe him. Dropping his own hands to the other’s waist, Draco slipped his fingers up under the fabric of that shirt that had been taunting him since the moment he’d first seen it without being hidden by Neville’s jacket. 

Neville chuckled a little into Draco’s mouth as those questing fingers tickled his skin, his abdominal muscles flinching and rippling under them in response. Had he been putting in some extra physical effort at training lately? Perhaps. Usually he just did whatever he had to to avoid being shouted at; one of the Senior Aurors had actually stopped him the other day to tell him they were impressed at his sudden rededication to his personal fitness. It was worth it, to be able to feel Draco’s fingers trace him under his shirt, gradually riding it up until it was at his chest. “I still can’t believe you wore a cardigan,” he said after a minute, once he had flicked open the last button and paused for breath. “Did Hermione dress you, or something?”

“No, there was a very helpful shopgirl who helped me pick it out,” Draco admitted with a chuckle of his own. His fingers trailed over Neville’s skin greedily, unwilling to pull away just yet even if they did have plenty of time ahead of them. “I’m glad you approve,” he teased, reminiscent of his words from the beginning of the night. 

“I mean it’s geeky, but it suits you,” Neville grinned. “Not that I’m any real judge of Muggle fashion. I just never imagined you in  _ wool _ . Not to mention these,” he added, running his fingers along the waist of Draco’s jeans. “How uncomfortable are you right now? Be honest.” 

“Not at all, actually. There’s something to be said for the relative simplicity of them.” Draco shrugged even as he smirked, teasing, “I’m more interested in hearing what you have imagined me in.” He couldn’t quite help the way his hips rocked into Neville’s touch, chasing the contact he’d been craving since the last time they’d been together. 

Neville grunted as Draco’s movement shifted pressure against his groin. “Oh, you want to know about my secret fantasies now?” he teased, reaching up to push a lock of blond hair out of Draco’s eyes. “I will if you will.” 

Tilting his head into Neville’s fingers, Draco replied, “I’m assuming you mean the ones we haven’t already made a reality.” Though that wasn’t to say he wouldn’t be open to a repeat performance of any of them, especially given how well things had gone for them in bed so far. 

Neville grinned triumphantly. “Precisely. I knew you’d have some. You’ve had a lot more time to think about this than I have, to be fair.” He jerked his hips quickly upwards, making Draco gasp, and ran his hands suggestively over the curve of Draco’s ass through those deliciously tight jeans, which had him squirming in Neville’s lap slightly. He’d never noticed men in tight trousers before, at least not on any conscious level, but he certainly did now. He decided not to give voice to this development however. “Besides, you never know,” he murmured instead, leaning up to practically purr into Draco’s ear, feeling or perhaps imagining the familiar fizzing of the wine at the base of his brain. “If you tell me one, I might just do it.” 

Shuddering again from the closeness of Neville’s chest pressed against his own as he listened to the man speak, Draco let out a shaky breath as his fingers tightened from the words themselves. “Bloody hell,” he murmured as he gathered his thoughts. His ears flushed a little as he said softly, “I have lost count of the number of times I’ve thought about riding your dick. Or your fingers...”

Neville swallowed hard, his breathing quickened. “Mm,” he managed, heart pounding. “I… I’ve thought about that too,” he admitted, which had Draco grinning. Neville counted himself rather lucky that he knew what he meant at all; not that he was entirely naive, but a little subtle research had been required to satisfy himself that he was actually right about the mechanics, and sixteen-year-old Seamus hadn’t just been pulling his leg. “I didn’t know if you’d want… I mean, isn’t that… painful?” 

“Only if it’s not done right,” Draco said in an attempt to be reassuring. “You’re not gonna hurt me,” he tried instead, though he really did appreciate Neville’s thoughtfulness on the matter. “Should we relocate to the bed?” 

“Yeah,” Neville answered, quickly; it came out a little hoarse. He had already been half-hard for several minutes, but the idea of Draco’s suggestion was making his own jeans particularly uncomfortable. As they got up, temporarily untangling from each other, clothes rumpled, he quickly poured himself a second glass of wine and drank it, both for fortitude and to ease the sudden dryness in his mouth. Then he followed Draco to the bedroom, leaving his shoes and his glass behind. 

Draco was shaking already as he made his way into the bedroom, a combination of excited anticipation and desire making his hands tremble as he stripped off the cardigan. Tossing it aside to be dealt with later, he took a moment to try and gather himself, breathing deeply as if that was going to help calm him down in any way. He closed his eyes and dropped to sit on the end of the bed, almost unable to believe that this was really happening. 

Neville slipped through the door, trying to look cool and calm and not all nervous. By now he trusted Draco in bed; he wasn’t afraid of being dragged into something he wasn’t ready for, only buzzing all over with anticipation and not being entirely sure what to expect. He caught Draco sitting still with his eyes closed and smiled to himself. “Sure you don’t want a nap or something first?” he teased, leaning against the door jamb with his arms crossed over his chest. 

His eyes popped open again at the first hint of Neville’s voice, and Draco smirked as he teased back boldly, “No, all I want is you.” He pushed himself back to his feet, taking the few steps to be standing in front of the other man again. Reaching out, he hoped his hands weren’t trembling as obviously as they had been a few minutes ago as he slipped his fingers into Neville’s belt loops to tug him gently towards the bed. 

Neville grinned and followed him obediently. “You’re so melodramatic sometimes,” he chuckled, rolling his eyes before he let himself be pulled forward onto the bed. He fell easily into a familiar pattern, pinning Draco between him and the sheets and kissing him sweetly. 

“Sometimes,” Draco agreed with a wide grin before his mouth was claimed and he couldn’t say anything further. Moaning happily as Neville pressed him down into the mattress, Draco smoothed his hands down his back until he found the hem of his t-shirt and started tugging it up out of the way. 

Neville grunted a little with annoyance at having to stop, but he sat up on his knees anyway and helped Draco tug the shirt up and over his head, with some difficulty. The effort left his hair sticking up all over the place and he shook it out, hoping it would settle, while he helped Draco do the same. By the time they were both bare to the waist he was already panting a little. 

Perhaps they hadn’t done this in the best order, but Draco was willing to admit that he had a difficult time concentrating when they were like this. Neville just seemed to override most of his logic and reason, but since it had worked for them so far, he saw no reason to change that. Staring up greedily as he reached for the button on Neville’s pants, Draco leaned in to press his mouth to the closest patch of skin he could find. 

Neville hissed and reflexively put his hand around the back of Draco’s head, fingers tangling in his hair as Draco’s fingers popped the button on his jeans. That sensation earned him a soft groan as Draco tilted his head slightly to feel more of Neville’s touch. Neville wondered, not for the first time, if Draco was really that good with his mouth or if it would feel that good no matter who did it; it hardly mattered, but he liked to think it was Draco’s tongue specifically that sent shudders all the way down his spine. “I think I’m sweating butter,” he muttered, between heavy breaths. 

Chuckling a little at that statement, Draco asked playfully, “Do you really think I’d care if you were?” He curled his fingers into the top of Neville’s jeans and started to pull at the fabric. 

Neville laughed and twisted around, falling onto his back and lifting his hips to give Draco better access. “I think it’d make me delicious,” he chuckled, “but some people might find that gross.” He let out a short breath as the jeans finally slipped over his hips, giving him at least marginal relief from the hot tight pressure in his groin. 

Draco grinned as Neville rearranged, loving the sound of his laughter and feeling a little smug at being responsible for it. “You’re always delicious,” he commented almost absentmindedly as he pulled the other man’s jeans down and off. Letting out a small hum of appreciation at the sight of Neville naked in his bed again, Draco moved to remove his own jeans as well, focused more on the sight in front of him than what he was doing. 

Neville found himself getting irrationally impatient as Draco pushed off his pants. He reached out to help, lifting himself up enough that he could catch Draco’s mouth with his own as together they shoved the thick canvas fabric down his thighs. “Bout time these came off,” he growled, which sent another shiver down Draco’s spine. 

“I’ll be sure to remember that for next time,” Draco teased breathlessly, smirking again as he kicked off the offending denim and crawled into Neville’s lap. He leaned down to press another kiss to the man’s lips as he settled, sliding his hands up to rest on his shoulders, less about keeping his balance and more about having another excuse to touch. 

As Draco settled into his lap, their thighs brushing each other’s erections, Neville moaned softly into Draco’s mouth and gripped onto his waist, almost hard enough to bruise. Draco didn’t really need to wear tight clothes to turn him on, but the effect of seeing him stripped had an intoxicating effect nevertheless. He thought this was the longest time they’d spent together  _ before _ having sex since that first time; maybe that was part of it, too. 

Draco would have been perfectly happy to have bruises from Neville, and he pressed his hips into that grip, shuddering again as he heard Neville’s moan. Grinding his hips down, he let out a soft moan of his own as he felt Neville’s skin sliding over his. “Nev, please,” he murmured against the other man’s lips, not caring in the least how needy he sounded. 

Neville smiled at the now familiar plea, even as he gasped a little at the pressure between his legs as Draco ground against him, his ass rubbing up against Neville’s cock. “Yes,” he breathed, swallowing a little as he remembered what they’d agreed to. He’d almost forgotten in the heat of undressing. He ducked his head enough so that he could nip at the spot just under Draco’s jaw that nearly always made him moan, one hand shifting to squeeze the softer flesh of Draco’s thigh.

Gripping a little tighter at Neville’s shoulders, Draco tilted his head back to let him put his mouth wherever he’d like on Draco’s throat. He whimpered softly at the sensation of Neville’s teeth against his skin, rocking back against the hard length of his cock again. Draco still wasn’t entirely sure about  _ exactly _ what Neville wanted to do, given the options presented, but he was determined to ensure that it would be mutually enjoyable.

Neville grunted loudly against Draco’s skin. He was so hard it was starting to cause an ache in the small of his back. He reached behind him so he could use one hand to brace himself while he bucked his hips up into Draco’s ass, seeking more friction, his other hand trailing down Draco’s stomach and over his dick, stroking. 

With a groan of his own, Draco couldn’t quite help he way his hips squirmed, unable to figure out which sensation he wanted to chase more. “Nev,” he whined breathlessly, nipping gently at the other man’s lips. 

“Good?” Neville murmured haltingly against Draco’s mouth, no longer able to form full sentences. He wished they could do this all the time, every night; he didn’t think there was any way he could ever tire of it. His whole body was buzzing, his heart pounding against his ribs. 

“Please,” Draco intoned again, finally unclenching the fingers of one hand from Neville’s shoulders so that he could reach over and grab a vial from the nightstand at the side of the bed. He pressed the small container into the other man’s palm gently, rocking his hips down again.

Neville took the vial, clenching his teeth and shutting his eyes for a moment as Draco insisted on grinding down on him while he was trying to concentrate. He swallowed. “What do I do?” he asked, low and a little hoarse, as he popped it open one-handed. 

Draco inhaled deeply, forcing himself to stay still. Swallowing around a suddenly dry throat, he felt himself blushing for reasons he couldn’t quite explain. Not quite able to find the words to answer Neville’s question, Draco moved to show him instead, reaching down to help coat the other man’s fingers and guiding him back towards Draco’s entrance. “Just one to start,” he murmured, his eyes fixated on Neville’s face. 

Neville nodded, gritting his teeth hard with concentration and steadying out his breathing. He followed Draco’s guidance, and after just a few seconds of fumbling, managed to slip the tip of his forefinger into Draco’s hole. 

Choking on a noise that might have been the start of a moan, Draco moved back against that pressure, slow and steady so that he didn’t startle Neville as he took more of him in. He couldn’t quite get his breathing regular, but he had more important things to concentrate on at the moment. 

Neville’s first startled thought as Draco sank down on his finger was that it would surely be  _ impossible _ to fit more than that. He could feel the tightness and tension around it like a vice, so that he hardly dared move, but as Draco moved for him, shifting to where he was comfortable, he began to feel it loosen just a little. “Are you  _ sure _ this doesn’t hurt?” he asked, low and a little breathless, trying to interpret the look on Draco’s face. 

“Yes,” Draco answered softly, opening his eyes fully from the half-lidded state they had been in. He smiled when he realized Neville was looking at him, hoping the expression was actually as reassuring as he’d meant it to be. “More than sure,” he added, rocking his hips slightly to help him adjust more quickly. 

Neville smiled nervously back and did his best to follow the example Draco set, matching his careful rhythm. He was trepidatious in the same way he usually was when he tried something new, uncertain, but he also trusted Draco to know what he liked. At the same time as he focused on this, however, he couldn’t help feeling distracted by imagining what it would feel like to have the same warm tightness that was around his finger squeezing his cock.

A quiet moan escaped Draco as Neville started to move with him, and his fingers tightened where he still had them wrapped around the other man’s arm. “You can… give me another,” he said, a bit breathlessly as he forced himself to settle and stop moving on Neville’s lap again. 

Neville swallowed. “Sure?” he asked, haltingly, and at Draco’s nod carefully removed his first finger and tried with two together, pressing them tight and slightly crossed, trying to nudge his way past that tight ring of resistance as carefully and smoothly as possible. 

Draco took another deep breath as Neville pushed into him, ignoring the slight hint of a burn as he tried to make his body relax and remember the tricks of loosening up, since he knew that once he did, things were only going to get even better. It had been a long time - longer than he’d like to admit - that anyone other than himself had done this to him, and he squeezed again where he was holding onto Neville. 

Neville was pretty astounded at how Draco managed to accommodate both fingers where it had already been so constricted before. He’d already learned a lot over the last few weeks and apparently there were things about the human body that he hadn’t been able to comprehend no matter  _ what _ Seamus managed to convince him of. “Feels good?” he asked, in a low murmur, still fascinated by the changing expression on Draco’s face.

“So good,” Draco whined quietly, starting to slowly rock his hips again as he adjusted to the intensity of Neville’s fingers inside him. “Fuck, Nev, please,” he babbled, a little inanely, wavering for half a heartbeat before leaning forward the few scant inches to press another kiss to Neville’s mouth. 

Neville wasn't sure what Draco was asking, begging for, so he just kept doing what he had been up to now, carefully moving his head back and forth, matching Draco’s more intense movements as best as he could. The kiss was reassuring, if a little distracting - maybe one day he'd be able to focus on both things at once while trying to ignore his aching cock bouncing between them, but at the moment he mostly felt slow and uncoordinated. He did think though that he could tell when the rigidity around his fingers eased enough, just as it had before. 

"More?" he guessed, his teeth grazing Draco's lip a little as he tried to readjust his hand. 

Nodding vigorously, Draco had to suck in another deep breath before he confirmed in another soft whine, “Yes. Please.” He forced his eyes open - not entirely sure when they had shut to begin with - to stare at Neville’s face again. His fingers were still tightly locked around the other man’s arm, and he couldn’t quite control the way he was panting somewhat. But even all of that took a backseat to seeing the look of concentration of Neville’s face, so close to his own, and he felt struck completely dumb for a few long moments, just caught up in staring at him. 

Neville bit his lip hard as he managed to slide three fingers inside Draco, ever so carefully, and sat up so that he could hold his own weight properly and cup Draco’s face in his other hand. The combination of those things had Draco so overwhelmed that he stopped breathing for a moment, before flushing even more as he tilted his entire head more fully into Neville’s touch. They had of course been this close before, several times, but this somehow felt even closer, more intimate; Neville could see Draco reacting to what he was doing in tiny movements of his eyebrow, his face. It was just as fascinating as it was erotic, particularly when they settled back into a rhythm again and he experimented with moving his fingers apart inside, just a little, stretching. That new difference dredged up a whimper from Draco’s throat, another shudder going down his spine from the sensation.

For his part, Draco was certain that everything he was feeling - both the lust and the sheer adoration - were written plainly across his face for Neville to see. It was a little bit terrifying, as was the absolute faith he had that the other man wouldn’t use it against him in some awful way. 

Squirming in Neville’s lap, Draco moaned again as he rocked forward on instinct, and then once more when the movement had his dick rubbing up against Neville’s.

Neville’s breathing was loud in his own ears; he grunted a little as Draco pushed against him, doing his best to keep his focus. His back was sweating with the effort of holding up both his weight and Draco’s without falling back; but it was a good, satisfying ache, and every time Draco’s dick brushed tantalizingly against his, it was completely worth it. He managed eventually to sink all three fingers in as far as they would go, and found himself grinning at the way Draco’s eyes rolled back in his head, as a breathy sigh of “Fuck me,” escaped him. Draco smirked, lifting his gaze to Neville’s eyes as he added with a chuckle, “Please.” He felt giddy on endorphins already, and quite honestly he probably wouldn’t last much longer than it would take to get just the head of Neville’s cock into him - but that didn’t mean he didn’t want to try, nonetheless. 

Neville swallowed hard. He didn’t think there was anything he’d ever wanted to do more, and the way Draco asked sent a hot shudder right down his spine. He removed his fingers, making a small groan of loss escape Draco’s chest. “I… are you sure?” he managed, while his dick raged against his damn hesitance. He realised he already had his hand on it, clearly eager despite his innocent concerns. 

“ _ Yes _ ,” Draco said emphatically, punctuating the statement by letting go of his grip on Neville’s arm to reach out for the vial again. “Please, Nev,” Draco repeated softly as his fingers slicked up the length of Neville’s cock, teasingly light. He wrapped an arm around the brunet’s shoulders as he leaned back just enough to give Neville a better angle to slide into him at. 

“Okay,” Neville breathed, gritting his teeth again as Draco’s fingers danced over him. Taking a deep, shuddery breath, he followed Draco’s lead, holding his cock at the entrance to the smaller man’s body, holding his breath as Draco sank slowly down onto him. He felt the tightness of him immediately, and let out that stolen breath in a long, low moan of delayed pleasure. 

Draco’s moan echoed Neville’s as he was entered, his head starting to fall back until he forced it up once more so that he could watch the other man’s face. His own eyes were only half-open, and he was digging into Neville’s shoulder blade with the nails of the hand still clinging to his back. Swallowing thickly against the sudden dryness in his throat when he was fully seated on Neville’s length, Draco unclenched his fingers from the flesh of the man’s back to slip into his hair instead. He leaned in to claim another soft kiss from his lips as he adjusted to the fullness of Neville’s cock inside him.

Neville had to let his hands fall back to the mattress behind him so that he could hold himself up, dizzy with hot, intense pleasure so that he was only half paying attention to Draco’s kiss. “ _ Fuck _ ,” he breathed into Draco’s mouth, a rare voiced exclamation, shuddering and almost choking on a laugh at how incredible it felt. “ _ Fuck _ , Draco…” 

Beaming at that reaction, Draco let out a bright giggle of his own. He planted one hand more firmly on Neville’s shoulder, making one last adjustment with his knees and thighs so that he was in the best position to move. “Nev,” he whispered reverently, biting down on his own bottom lip as he started to rock, gently lifting himself up slightly. 

“Yes,” Neville managed, gasping. His thighs were tense and trembling, he hardly dared move, but Draco moved for him, sending fresh waves of hot pleasure through his entire abdomen with every slow undulation. “Merlin’s balls,” he breathed, almost as turned on by the sight as he was by the feeling.

Draco couldn’t stop grinning even as he felt the waves of pleasure washing over him. Part of it was smugness, at being able to make Neville feel that good - while the rest of him was in awe that this was actually happening, like a dream come true. Not that he would say such a thing aloud, but the sentiment was real enough. 

He didn’t pick up his pace at all, feeling confident that the slow steadiness of their current movements would be more than enough, but he did drop one hand to his own dick, too close to being completely overwhelmed with pleasure to think about restraining himself. 

The steady pace was just fine with Neville, who was still adjusting to the utterly foreign sensation of being inside Draco; somehow it was better than even he had imagined. He found himself lifting his hips off the bed despite the burn of fatigue in his stomach muscles, his body reacting instinctively to each roll of pleasure, seeking more. 

Moaning softly again as he felt Neville start to meet the rhythm of his movements, Draco stroked himself a little more quickly. He stared down at the other man as he did so, wanting to watch the pleasure on his face. “Fuck, Nev,” escaped him breathlessly, too caught up in the moment to think of anything else to say that would express how amazing everything currently was.

Neville moaned and breathed Draco’s name, one hand going to grip onto his knee, squeezing, something solid to hold onto, to ground him in this new, electrifying, sensation. He was glad they were taking it fairly slow, as he didn’t think he could handle much more at the moment. “Yes,” he groaned nonsensically, his neck arching as he felt the boiling heat in his navel start to bubble over, his head falling back onto the pillow, “yes, yes,  _ yes…”  _

Draco loved the sound of his name on Neville’s lips like that, especially combined with the way the other man’s hand was gripping him just tight enough to maybe leave him with a few bruises. The sight of Neville coming undone beneath him was breathtaking, the icing on the cake that pushed him over that final edge and resulting in the best orgasm he’d had… probably ever, if he was being honest. He moaned again as he came, clenching down on the length of Neville’s cock inside him as he lost his rhythm, his releasing coating his fingers and both of their stomachs. 

Neville shuddered and gasped again as Draco somehow managed to get tighter around him, losing himself completely in that moment as he came harder and longer than he could ever remember doing so, so that he literally saw stars. He had assumed that was something that only ever happened in the kind of paperback novel that girls occasionally liked to giggle over. “Fuck,” he breathed again, glad that he was already lying down, panting hard as he looked up into Draco’s face. “I… wow.”

Between the high of his afterglow and having apparently made Neville speechless, Draco couldn’t hold back a bright laugh, swaying just a little where he was still positioned in Neville’s lap. “Yeah,” he agreed, beaming, and then moved to lay down next to the other man. Or at least, that had been his intention - in actuality, it was more of a graceless tumble down to the sheets, but that didn’t remove the smile from his face. Neville grunted as Draco slid off him, his still-sensitive cock twitching. 

“Brilliant,” Draco said, pushing himself up just enough that he could lean in to press a kiss to the corner of Neville’s mouth before collapsing next to him again. 

“We’re doing  _ that  _ again,” Neville announced, gazing up blankly at the ceiling. “Although not now and maybe not for a few  _ days _ because... bloody hell.” He swallowed. He could get better at that too, he thought. He realised belatedly that he probably should have used his own hands to help Draco get off, but he’d been too overcome to even think of it. Maybe when he was in less of a passive position, he thought, and shuddered inwardly with lust at the idea. “Any other fantasies you want to share with the class?” he breathed, grinning and reaching up gingerly to wipe his overgrown hair out of his eyes. If Draco liked it that way, maybe he’d just keep it, no matter what his gran said. “Merlin, I’m sweating and I barely even moved.”

Still beaming widely, Draco inhaled deeply to try and offset how breathless he still was before answering. “Now that you mention it, I was very intrigued by the thought of sharing a shower with you.” He watched as Neville ran his fingers through his hair, and reached up with his clean hand to follow suit. “I’m not quite sure my legs are up for it just yet though. You might need to give me a couple of minutes,” he added with a small chuckle. 

“I’m not surprised,” Neville muttered in agreement. He shifted a little, to get as comfortable as he could in the state he was in. “As many minutes as you want.” He grinned and looked over at him. “This was a really great first date.”

Draco’s smile turned almost bashful, rolling onto his side lazily so that he could look at Neville more easily. “Yeah, it was,” he agreed softly. “Do you… would… you’re welcome to stay. The night. If you want.” He hated the insecurity there, and tried to cover up his fumbling by adding, “I promise to not leave you to wake up alone this time.” 

Neville chuckled. “I’d like that,” he said simply. “Just don’t let me sleep all day; it feels like that could be a real possibility, and I wouldn’t want to be late for work.” He yawned. “My internal clock never works as well if I’m not home.” 

As much as he’d rather have had Neville here with him than galavanting off to do Auror stuff that seemed to leave him perpetually tired and stressed, Draco nodded in response to that request. “I will make sure to wake you up before lunchtime,” he promised, inching closer so that he could curl into the warmth of Neville’s body. 


	9. Happy Birthday

Neville did not, had not and would never want a big fuss made about his birthday. For one thing he wasn’t _used_ to a fuss, since growing up his birthday had usually comprised of a very clean, organised playdate with children his own age who he didn’t really know, and no more than one serious and practical gift, coupled with a lecture from his Gran on responsibility; although he did occasionally at least get to have his favourites for dinner. For another thing, he hated being the centre of attention. And thirdly, his birthday was the day before Harry’s, which meant there was no point making a fuss even if he had wanted to. Fortunately it was during the summer holidays, so during school it had never been a problem. This year however, certain people seemed determined to reverse what they saw as a decades-long travesty of injustice. 

“You’re having a party,” Ginny told him flatly, when, during a conversation about the party she was throwing for _Harry_ , someone casually said _hey, isn’t it your birthday coming up too, Nev_ , and he begrudgingly had to give up the date. 

“Don’t think I am,” he replied, but after that there wasn’t much he could do; she was set on it, and then Luna chimed in, and pretty soon he was darkly regretting his choice of best friends. Particularly since he had rather been looking forward to a repeat of Draco’s birthday, when they had had dinner together - a nice, private dinner - followed by an evening of predictably brilliant sex. And it had been a few weeks since they had seen each other, too. Hermione then went and solved this particular problem by telling Ginny to invite Draco to the party. 

“You did _what?”_ he said, startled, when she told him. 

“Why not?” She looked surprised. “You’re friends, aren’t you? You haven’t had a falling out, or anything?” 

“Well,” Neville stammered, trying to rearrange the objection in his head so it would make sense to anyone but him, “no-oo, but… well, you’ll all be there…” 

“Oh, they’ll behave themselves,” Hermione waved his concern aside, and he didn’t have to ask to know that she specifically meant Harry and Ron. “Or they better. Besides, the way the guest list is starting to look I’d be surprised if they even run into each other.” 

Neville groaned. “What happened to just a simple get together?” he complained, making a face. “I’m sure I don’t even have that many friends.” 

But apparently he did, if you counted almost all of the DA, and several of the younger Aurors he had gotten to know well over the last two years; he had to stop Ginny short of inviting Professor McGonagall. “No one’s going to come,” he warned the girls. “Not with Harry’s party the next day. No one wants to do two parties in a row.” 

They told him pretty firmly to stay out of it, so he sighed and gave up and sent Draco a quick note saying that he was sorry and he didn’t _have_ to come if he didn’t want to, and then realised that sounded like he meant that he didn’t _want_ Draco to come, so he added that of course it would be nice to have him there, but only if he was prepared to put up with a lot of what he would call Gryffindor nonsense. The note was pretty much a shambles by that point, but he sent it anyway. He thought Draco would know what he meant. 

There was one thing he had a say over; the venue was the family property he’d been trying to convince Hermione and Draco to let him donate to the Foundation. He reasoned that if Hermione could see how disused it actually was, she might be better inclined to the idea of a little school or a summer camp, as Draco had suggested. He gave Ginny the keys out of the vault and told her to go wild, but he was a bit surprised to turn up at the house on the 30th of July (in Muggle clothes, he refused to submit to the occasion so far as to wear dress robes, no matter how much his Gran tried to insist on it) to find four of the main rooms completely free of dust sheets, swept out and decorated. 

“Nice, isn’t it?” Luna said, coming up behind him silently like a cat and slipping her hand easily into his. She was wearing a floral summer dress that stopped at her knees, and a sparkly plastic tiara. Compared to her usual ensemble it was practically normal. 

“So are you,” Neville said appreciatively, raising an eyebrow at her. She didn’t even come up to his shoulder; surely he couldn’t have grown even taller since he had left school? She had always loomed so big and bright in his mind, especially that year when anything bright was a relief from the neverending, soul-crushing darkness. “I mean, you look pretty.” 

“Oh, thanks.” She smiled and reached up with her free hand to adjust the tiara.

There were quite a lot of people there already, which made him uncomfortable. He could only hope they would all talk to each other, at least, rather than all converging on him. He found his eyes flickering to the main door, hopefully, and chided himself. _He’s not coming_ , he told himself. _Don’t be stupid. He’d have to be mental._

Spending an evening surrounded by people who had hated him for the better part of a decade was not necessarily something Draco really _wanted_ to do - especially since he was aware that a lot of them still did. But he’d read Neville’s adorably rambling note too many times to count, and between that, and the fact that it had been far too long since they’d seen one another, had him getting ready without hesitation on the night. He’d sent a late RSVP to the Weasley girl, but he wasn’t certain if she’d passed that along to Neville, or if either of them even believed he’d actually show up.

As he’d stood in front of his closet pondering an outfit for the evening, Draco was struck with the memory of Neville playfully commenting about the reactions he’d get from the Gryffindors if they saw him in Muggle clothing - which then led him down the train of thought of Neville reactions to his outfit the night they’d gone to the cinema. It was a little too warm to get away with the cardigan, but he felt confident that he could get away with jeans and a button-down shirt, and he did throw on a light jacket over it because he didn’t want to seem _too_ casual.

By the time he finished dressing and checking his hair in the mirror, Draco found himself a bit later than intended. He checked the address one last time before Apparating, standing outside the door for a moment to take a deep breath to fortify himself, making sure he at least _appeared_ confident, even if he wasn’t entirely feeling it at the moment, before stepping through the entrance.

“Oh,” Luna said while Neville was perusing the frankly insane amount of food set out on one of the long tables his great-grandparents had probably eaten at either end of. “He looks very different. I hardly recognised him, dressed like that.” 

“Who?” Neville asked, only half paying attention, as he turned. He couldn’t help a slight intake of breath to see Draco standing in the doorway, and it was all he could do not to rush over right away. He told himself that it would absolutely look weird, and then he remembered Luna and Malfoy Manor. “You okay?” he asked, although as one of the party planners she would have known he was invited, “I mean it’s… not a problem for you, is it?” 

She shook her head lightly so as not to dislodge her tiara. “Of course not. We all know you two are friends now. He can’t be that horrible if _you_ like him.”

He hesitated before giving her a quick hug. “Thanks, Luna. I… that means a lot, honestly.” 

She smiled and squeezed his arm. “I’m going to find Ginny. See you later.” 

“Sure.” Neville waited until she had ducked into the crowd around the other end of the table before turning back to raise his hand in a little wave to the figure standing in the doorway. He did look different, Neville thought, and maybe it was just his new perspective, but he didn’t think it was just the clothes. They had been sleeping together - he wasn’t sure if _dating_ was the appropriate word - for over three months, and Neville’s heart still did a strange little jump whenever he saw him. It probably helped that there were often quite long periods of time between their visits, making the heart grow fonder and all that. 

Draco was very relieved that there hadn’t been a sudden silence or an abundance of stares as he’d entered, since he had been a little worried about that. Maybe the difference in clothing had helped mitigate that, made him blend in a bit, but either way he was grateful for the ability to slip inside without much fanfare. His eyes swept over the crowd with a single goal, and a small smile formed immediately as soon as he found it. Even now, Draco felt his heart squeeze in his chest and his breathing momentarily stop with that first sight of Neville, especially when they’d been separated for some time. 

It was impossible to miss Luna Lovegood standing at his side, once he was able to widen his focus beyond just Neville himself - she was as colorful as she’d been back at Hogwarts, when Draco hadn’t really seen her as worthy of much notice or time. That assumption had obviously been incorrect, he’d realized at some point, but for now he was far more concerned with the casual way she had a hand on Neville’s arm before moving away. 

He pushed that observation out of his mind when he caught sight of Neville’s wordless greeting, grinning slightly again as he started to make his way over. 

“Hi,” Neville said, low but pleased as Draco came within close earshot. They could hardly greet each other as they normally would; it felt strange just to stand there, and suddenly he wasn’t sure what to do with his hands. He settled for tucking them into his pockets. “I… good to see… I didn’t really think you would come.” 

“Hi,” Draco returned, suddenly hating the fact that he couldn’t reach out and put his hands on Neville the way he wanted, the way he’d managed to get accustomed to doing. He curled his fingers into a fist just long enough to dig his nails into his palms for a moment before shrugging. “I’d be a terrible friend if I missed your birthday,” he comment. “So, happy birthday. I do have a present for you that is not a stack of old books, but it seemed better to wait until you didn’t have… all of this to deal with.”

“Good idea,” Neville said, flushing a little and rubbing the back of his neck. “Although you really didn’t have to get me anything.” That protest had Draco shaking his head slightly as he rolled his eyes fondly. Neville sighed heavily and looked around. “I hate this,” he whined. “It was _not_ my idea.”

Draco felt his breath catch again at the adorable sight Neville’s gesture made, storing the image away along with all the others he’d collected over the months they’d been… together, as it were. “I know,” he murmured, since he did feel confident in his knowledge that Neville hadn’t thought this up on his own. 

“I’d have much rather just spent time with you, but… well, to be honest people have started wondering where I go to all the time.” 

“Oh?” 

“Well, y’know. The lack of free time we have, they were going to notice if I kept disappearing. I just told them I was sick of all their faces.” He smiled wryly. “I think Ginny did this just for revenge.” 

He couldn’t help looking Draco up and down. He thought he could now see why Augusta considered most Muggle clothing to be too revealing; you could definitely see a lot more of him than in robes, even if his skin was mostly covered up. “You look great,” he said, low. 

Smirking a little at the compliment, Draco found himself standing up straighter as he said softly, “Thanks. You too.” It was actually almost unfair how good Neville looked, especially considering that Draco couldn’t touch him. “Shall we get drinks?” he offered, knowing he was going to need one with the revelation he’d just had about exactly how long this evening was going to be, even if he knew that getting Neville alone at the end of it was absolutely worth it. 

“Sure,” Neville said, reasoning that no one could take objection to that. It was the first time, he realised, that they’d been together in public - at least with people they knew - since the engagement party. It was an odd mix of nerves and excitement, and as they turned towards the table where drinks had been set up, he could feel eyes on them - or rather, on Draco. “Better not drink too much,” he muttered to Draco in an undertone, referring mainly to himself. “I might get handsy.” 

Draco was definitely sensing the attention they were getting, and even though it was making him more anxious than he was used to feeling, he tried to ignore it as best he could and just focus on Neville instead. His laugh earned him another suspicious glare or two, which just added to his trepidation about the inevitable future moment when Neville would have to go be social and mingle with other people. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he commented, hiding his smirk behind the rim of his wine glass. 

“I can’t believe you came,” Neville said, pouring his own drink from the ‘mild’ punchbowl. “This is going to be horrible for you, you realise. Not that I’m not… I’m glad you’re here.” He cleared his throat. “The sooner people get used to the two of us being friends, the better. Might mean a slightly smaller catastrophe later on.” 

That was an excellent point, one that Draco hadn't really considered. With a small shrug of one shoulder, Draco said, “I’ll survive.” Between the looks he was getting and the restriction on how close he could get to Neville, he was well aware that this wasn’t really going to be fun. “It’ll be fine,” he said nonetheless, mostly just because he didn’t want Neville worrying about him all night. 

Neville shot him a look, as he didn’t believe that for a second, but there was no sense in pushing the point. From behind them he could already hear a familiar voice calling his name. “Well,” he said, draining his too-small cup despite his earlier resolution to the contrary and filling it again. “Better face the music.” 

“Neville!” Seamus exclaimed, coming to drape his long arms over Neville’s shoulder, or to at least try to. “Merlin’s cock and balls, I keep forgetting how fuckin’ tall you are. Happy birthday!” 

“Thanks,” Neville replied, rolling his eyes. “Didn’t think you’d come all the way here for this.” 

“Ah, well, I’m in England for the summer anyway. Gotta make some money somehow, right?” Seamus shrugged jovially. “Trying to convince George to let me design things for WWW.” His eyes slid off Neville and onto Draco, standing slightly behind him. “Who’s your f-” he stopped mid-sentence, eyes widened. “Bloody hell,” he muttered, blinking, his expression twisting as he apparently tried to readjust his focus. “Malfoy?” 

Taking a deep breath as Neville’s attention was caught by the newcomer, Draco took a step back - he hadn’t realized exactly how close he’d been standing, right at the edge of what could be considered platonic. He let his eyes wander over the crowd, searching for any faces that wouldn’t be inclined to hex him right off the bat. But he was still paying enough attention to the conversation to recognise that particular change in tone. 

“Finnigan,” he greeted flatly in return, giving a small nod but not daring to offer his hand. 

“Didn’t recognise you,” Seamus said stiffly, looking Draco up and down. His eyes flickered between the two of them, questioning. There was a certain gleam there, one that caused Draco to immediately imagine that Seamus was picturing the two of them naked together, and trying to calculate if he could believe such a thing. The look went away when Neville spoke, and Draco wasn’t sure what conclusion Finnigan might have come to.

“We’re mates,” Neville said shortly, rolling his eyes. Seamus could handle it, he thought. Seamus was generally good-humoured and didn’t hold a grudge, and didn’t have the same kind of history with Draco that Harry and Ron did. Of course he had been through a lot in the 1997 school year, and any mention of the Carrows was likely to send him into a dark mood, but they hardly had to go there. “We saved each other’s lives last year and we no longer hate each other. You’re all caught up.” 

“Bloody hell,” Seamus muttered, in surprise, Neville thought, more than disapproval. “What happened, you both fell down a well?” 

“It was a little more complicated than that,” Draco answered, and then decided the best course would be to direct this conversation elsewhere. “Now, Finnigan, is it true that you can finish a beer with another balanced on your forehead, or is McMillian telling tales?”

Seamus grinned, disarmed at least momentarily. “Ernie doesn’t know the half of it,” he boasted. “If anything he’s seen me only at my most restrained.”

“Yeah, well I’ve seen you at your least, and I’ve seen enough,” Neville warned. 

‘Ha, you wish.” Seamus reached around him and grabbed a glass off the table. “You’ve seen nothing.”

“And heard nothing, I guess?” Neville raised an eyebrow. “This guy traumatised me in our third year,” he added to Draco. “As if it wasn’t enough there was a convicted murderer trying to break into our common room...” 

“Ah, how was I to know it’d give you nightmares?” Seamus miffed. “I taught you everything you needed to know. Not my fault you couldn’t handle it.”

“I was thirteen. I did not need to have the facts of life explained to me in so much gruesome detail.” 

Seamus grinned and took a swig. “Accurate detail, though.” 

“You seem to have recovered, at least,” Draco commented, and immediately regretted it when that sharp gleam came back into Finnigan’s eye. “What _are_ you doing?” he asked the Irishman directly, indicating the two separate size glasses in his hands.

“See! That’s the trick,” Seamus took the bait, setting the smaller glass down on the table and reaching for a glass of liquor to fill it with. “After the first beer is done, you drop the shot in the beer on your forehead, and then chug it,” he explained. “Sometimes it’s two shots, if you’re drinking with assholes.”

“Seamus,” Neville sighed. “If you throw up all over my great-grandmother’s antique furniture...” 

Seamus’s expression was wounded. “How dare you, Longbottom, have you ever known me to throw up on anything? Do not besmirch my ancestors with your heinous accusations.” 

“Finnegan, I have lost count of the number of gutters I have hurled my innards into with you by my side,” said Wayne Hopkins, who had apparently decided that Seamus was hosting a challenge of some variety. 

“Ah, bugger off,” Seamus said half-heartedly, pouring another glass for Wayne as he re-explained himself.

“Is there any way this ends well?” Draco asked Neville under his breath as an aside, almost regretting his choice of how to take the spotlight off himself somewhat.

“Nope,” Neville grinned and sipped punch from a plastic cup. He wasn’t really worried about the furniture, since magic was much better at fixing furnishings than people, and he already felt a little more relaxed. People for the most part were always more interested in drinking and having fun than starting a fight, which worked in their favour. 

“I suppose I should apologize for instigating… whatever this is about to become,” Draco said, finishing the glass of wine in his hand and replacing it with a full one. “I’m not that sorry though,” he added in an even softer voice, the playfulness that was reserved for Neville alone slipping into his tone. 

“Sure,” Neville chuckled. “Seamus can put on a show if he wants to; less eyes on us. C’mon.” He led the way away from the drinks table. “This is weird,” he said, looking around at the furniture and the big arched windows along one wall. There was even a portrait above the fireplace, a middle-aged couple who were no doubt related to him in some way, though he had no idea for sure. “Haven’t been here since I was little.” 

Less eyes on them didn’t necessarily mean _no_ eyes on them, and Draco was pretty sure he saw Potter glaring at them in his peripheral vision as they moved away from the crowd. Ignoring that - because he was getting Neville’s attention again, and he wasn’t going to squander that when he didn’t know how long it would last - he glanced at the walls and the decor, which resembled every other little-used living space in a Pureblood estate that Draco had ever seen. “This is the one you’re trying to convince Hermione to accept for the Foundation?” he asked, pretty certain he was right but not wanting to assume. 

Neville nodded. “It’d be a pretty big step, I know, but this would be perfect, right? Look, come look out the window.” He just in time resisted the urge to grab him by the sleeve, opting instead to wave him across the room to one of the large windows, through which a flat expansive area of land, untended, could be seen. “Can’t you just imagine a Quidditch pitch out there?” 

Draco followed without hesitation or question, though he tried to maintain a reasonable distance from Neville the whole time. He wasn’t entirely sure he succeeded, but rather than focus on it, he looked out the window to where Neville was gesturing. “Absolutely,” he agreed, because he could, and he appreciated that Neville remembered how Draco had talked about wanting to do something Quidditch related for the kids. Especially given the man’s personal feelings on flying in general. “Is she still giving you pushback on the whole thing?” Draco asked, since they hadn’t spoken about this topic in a while. 

“Kind of,” Neville said. “It’d mean expanding the charity, property management, renovations, blah blah blah. Loads of work. And it’d probably take a while to get it to the point you’d be able to use it for any real purpose, I suppose.” 

Frowning slightly Draco commented, “Maybe, but that doesn’t really seem like it should be an impediment.” He glanced over to the last place he’d seen Hermione, as if that would give him some sort of insight, and spotted her speaking with the Weasley girl. “I’ll see if I can’t figure out why we can’t take it off your hands,” he offered, bringing his gaze back to Neville. “Not right now, obviously,” he added, and then winced at little at his own ridiculousness, no matter that Neville had seen quite a bit of it already. 

Neville followed Draco’s eyeline, remembering as he spotted Hermione and Ginny that Draco did at least have _one_ other friend at this party. And Ginny he thought was unlikely to be rude for the sake of it. “We could just say hello, if you like,” he suggested. “You know Ginny set this whole thing up herself, I should probably say thank you, even if it does feel more like a punishment.” 

“Etiquette rules do require that thanks be presented in person to any event organizer,” Draco replied with a hint of extra poshness and a smirk. “Though I am still a little sad that I don’t get to steal you away all to myself for the night,” he added, low enough that the comment wouldn’t be heard by anyone but Neville.

“Stop it,” Neville said, trying to keep redness out of his face, and swatted Draco companionably on the arm as they moved away from the window and towards the girls. “You’ll get us in trouble.” 

Draco smirked again at that comment, though he refrained from saying anything further. He stayed a step further back than Neville as he greeted the girls, watching to see exactly how much suspicion was in their eyes when they got to him. 

“Neville!” Ginny exclaimed as she saw him, and gave him a hug immediately. “Happy birthday!” 

“I hate you a little bit,” Neville told her flatly, to which she merely stuck out her tongue. “Hi Hermione.” 

“Happy birthday Neville,” Hermione said in return, smiling as she hugged him as well. Her smile turned a bit more amused as she shifted her gaze to Draco and said, “I’m a little surprised you actually came.”

“That doesn’t seem to be an uncommon opinion this evening,” Draco replied, and then turned to Ginny to add the required, “Thank you for the invitation.” 

“You’re welcome,” Ginny replied with equal politeness, sounding just a little unsure. “You… look different.” 

Neville laughed and glanced at Draco. “You put on trousers and you’d think you’d dyed your hair pink, or something.” 

Nodding slightly even as he shrugged one shoulder, Draco said, “I probably stick out less in a crowd this way though.” The majority of the party-goers were also in Muggle clothes, so he knew the reaction was likely more to do with him than his sartorial choices. 

“It’s just different, that’s all,” Ginny said defensively, narrowing her eyes at Neville. “Anyway,” she turned back to Draco. “I’ve been meaning to say thank you, um… for what you did, last year. Saving Neville, I mean. We all heard about it.” 

“Except Seamus, evidently,” Neville snorted. 

“Shut up Neville. Anyway.” She boldly met Draco’s eyes. “Thanks for not leaving him to die. I’m sort of fond of him.” 

Draco blinked a couple of times in rapid succession, taken aback by that statement. He was momentarily at a loss for words, and wound up saying the first thing that occurred to him. “He’s pretty great, yeah.”

Ginny smiled, but Neville shifted uncomfortably; this was just the kind of thing he hated about birthdays, people talking about _him_ , and coming from Draco it must have sounded at least a little strange. “Stop it both of you,” he muttered. “Ginny, politeness apparently requires that I thank you for this terrible idea.” 

“It does, doesn’t it?” she beamed at him. “Oh don’t look so worried, it’ll be over before you know it, and there’ll be cake later.”

“I do like cake,” Neville sighed. “You aren’t going to sing though, right?” 

She scoffed. “Of course we’re going to sing, don’t be stupid.” 

“Hermione!” he protested, but she just laughed and put up her hands helplessly. 

“I’m not in charge here,” she pointed out. Neville groaned. 

It was a little odd, watching Neville with his friends - Draco suddenly felt like even more of an outsider than he had a few minutes prior. He’d been expecting that to happen at some point this evening, but he couldn’t quite help the way his gaze kept getting drawn back to the man, storing away the small differences for later examination. He looked relaxed - though not as much so as when Draco had him naked in bed, which he forced himself not to think about in present company - if perhaps a little put out by the thought of being the center of quite so much attention. 

Lifting his glass, Draco restrained a sigh when he found that it was empty after that sip. “You want another drink?” he asked Neville directly, admittedly maybe a little grateful to escape the conversation for a minute. 

Neville looked over at him. “Sure,” he said, though it came out a bit more like a question. He reminded himself that Draco could probably take care of himself. Besides, Ernie must also be around here somewhere, and some of the others who weren’t quite so hostile. 

The girls watched Draco slip back into the crowd. “Don’t look so worried,” Hermione chided Neville. 

“You aren’t?” Neville raised an eyebrow at her. 

“No one’s going to start a fight in the middle of your party, Nev. Relax, try and have fun.” 

Neville made a face, but he did his best to ease some of the tension in his shoulders. 

“Have you seen Luna?” Ginny asked with a weird twinkle in her eye. 

“Yeah,” Neville shrugged. “She’s around here somewhere.” 

“She was excited to see you. It’s been a while since any of us have, for very long.” 

“Yeah, sorry.” Neville gave her an apologetic sort of smile. “You know what our hours are like…” 

Draco got sidetracked by Ernie and Eleanor before he even made it back to the drinks table, drawn into a lengthy conversation about Paris and wine that he felt woefully unprepared for but managed to hold his own through anyway. Once he finally slipped away - not that he was ungrateful for the friendly faces, quite the opposite, he just wanted to get back as quickly as possible without being impolite - he was able to grab a fresh round of drinks without any more interruptions. As he turned back to make his way through the crowd once again, he spared the thought to hope that Neville hadn’t relocated in the time he was gone, or it might be a much more difficult task to try and find him once again. 

It turned out that Neville had not moved far, but a couple more people had joined the mini-gathering, including Ron Weasley, the Lovegood girl again, and another man Draco didn’t recognise, a little older. When Neville saw him, he smiled apologetically as he took the offered cup. “Thanks,” he said, and cleared his throat. “Um, Draco, this is Phillip, a mate of mine from the Auror department,” he added, indicating the second man, praying inwardly that Ron could keep it together. 

Positioning himself to one side of Neville - and trying his damnedest to ignore how close Lovegood was standing on the man’s other side - Draco pasted on the polite, nice-to-meet you expression that he’d learnt at a very early age as he extended his hand to shake with a brief, “Pleasure.”

Even this was apparently too much for Weasley, who glared, knocked back the rest of his beer in a single gulp, and then walked off without another word. All things considered, Draco took that as the minor victory it was, even as the Auror frowned a little at the redhead’s back. “You’re the one he pulled out of that barn in the swamp,” Phillip stated, more than asked, but Draco nodded anyway. “Pretty sure only Longbottom could get himself inadvertently kidnapped by someone who didn’t actually mean him any harm,” the man continued with a guffawing laugh. 

“That really wasn’t my intent,” Draco tried to interject, though he was rather convinced it fell on deaf ears. 

“Thanks Phil,” Neville said, rolling his eyes. “I’m glad we’re still making fun of me a year later.” He saw Hermione slip away, probably to go after Ron. He tried not to let his dismay show on his face. It would be different if he didn’t understand Ron’s point of view, but he did. If their positions were reversed, he wasn’t sure he could have managed to make conversation either. He had shared a dormitory with both Harry and Ron for six years, and even if they hadn’t been particularly close back then, after a couple of years working together - facing danger on a daily basis together - they certainly were now. He didn’t like the discomfort he felt knowing that two such important parts of his life were at such odds. It made him wonder if he would ever be able to tell them the truth. 

“Hope you’ve been watching your back,” Phillip added to Draco. “Some of those people are still out there somewhere.” 

“Comforting,” Ginny muttered. 

“I’ve been doing my best,” Draco replied as neutrally as possible, though he did privately agree with the youngest Weasley’s sarcastic assessment. And he was grateful that she was, at the very least, more socially gracious than her brother, even if it wasn’t actually for his benefit. Typically he didn’t have trouble in social settings like this, able to bullshit his way through whatever conversation for as long as needed - but Draco was having a more difficult time with that this evening. He suspected it was largely due to the surrounding company, and his wariness about how to interact with them all. 

“Yeah, right,” Neville said, without really thinking. “I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve told him not to walk alone at night.” 

Draco couldn’t help the fond sigh that escaped him with that, the words flowing smoothly as he retorted, “And as I tell you every time, I am perfectly fine.” And capable of handling himself, but he wasn’t going to make that particular comment in present company. 

“So far,” Neville muttered. Ginny was giving him a funny look. 

“Well,” Phillip said, clearly amused. “Seems like you’re getting the right advice. Fortunately for you they seem to have scurried back into the weeds. Less fortunate for us, of course.” 

“Enough Auror talk,” Ginny groaned. “Like I don’t get enough of it at almost every waking moment.” 

“Fine,” Neville said, perfectly happy to change the subject. “Gin - how’s Quidditch going?” 

She laughed. “You don’t care about Quidditch.” 

“No, but Draco does. Go on.” He turned to Draco, indicating Ginny with a tip of his head. “Ginny’s just joined a new Quidditch team that wants to go national.” It had been a bit of a slow return to the sport for England after the war; not only several players had been killed or fled the country, but also many of the managers and organisers who kept it going. It was starting to come back now, but it was likely to look quite different to the league of the past. 

“That’s very impressive,” Draco commented genuinely, keeping an almost wary eye on Ginny as he attempted to broach the topic. “Which position?” he asked, because he distinctly remembered her playing more than one, way back when. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Draco couldn’t help noticing how Lovegood had intentionally laid her head against Neville’s arm, since she wasn’t tall enough to rest it on his shoulder. His grip on his wine glass tightened briefly before he forced his fingers to relax, lifting the glass to his mouth in the hopes of hiding any inadvertent expression he might have made. 

“Chaser,” Ginny replied, shrugging. “It was always my best position. Are you, er, following the league at all?” 

Neville was only half-aware of Luna leaning against him; he was used to it, and while it might have frightened him out of his wits when he was fifteen, it was now oddly comforting. When he glanced down at her she smiled up at him, and he smiled back, making a mental note to try and make time for her. She didn’t have so many friends that she could afford to have one just fall out of her life. 

Forcing himself to focus on Ginny and the conversation at hand, Draco shrugged in response to her question. “Not as much as I’d like,” he admitted. He smirked a little as he added, “I’m trying to convince Hermione that the foundation should do a summer Quidditch camp type of deal. She has apparently not yet seen the possible benefits of such a thing though.”

“Ooh.” Ginny brightened. “I didn’t know that. That’s a great idea. I’m not surprised she isn’t interested - that’s Hermione for you. Her and Neville here are as bad as each other when it comes to Quidditch. Tell you what, just tell her how important Quidditch is as a part of Wizarding culture; she can’t deny that a foundation in flying would be useful to Muggleborn kids, not everyone can be a natural on a broom -” she stopped, flushing a little with enthusiasm for her subject. Phillip had already wandered off, waved over by another young Auror. “Anyway, I think it’s a great idea,” she said. 

Neville felt a little rush of triumph at that. He wondered if he could use the same tactic with Ron and Harry, who were after all quite as Quidditch mad as Ginny was. _Maybe not for a while,_ he told himself ruefully. This was a great start, though. 

“Nev.” Luna tugged at his sleeve. “I want to give you my present. Come with me?” 

Suppressing a groan at the suggestion of gifts, particularly at having to open a gift in front of people, Neville nodded. “All right. Let’s leave these two to talk Quidditch.”

Draco tensed at that suggestion, which was less about not wanting to be left alone with Weasley (even if he was fairly confident she wasn’t about to hex him within the next few minutes) and more about the knot of jealousy and anxiety in his stomach as it related to Neville and Lovegood. It wasn’t as though he could say anything though, not in public like this - and it suddenly occurred to him that they’d never had a conversation about exclusivity, that even though Draco hadn’t even _looked_ at anyone else since the first night they’d been together, it didn’t necessarily mean the same was true for Neville. The thought made him a little nauseous, actually, that he might be some sort of hidden, side affair - and what did it say about him that he could probably even accept that, if it meant Neville’s continued attention?

Forcing all of those musings aside to be dealt with later, Draco sipped from his wine glass to cover the sudden tightness in his throat, and then asked Weasley, “So, what’s the name of the team that’s lucky enough to have you among their ranks?”

While Ginny happily launched into an explanation of the ragtag team she had joined, Luna led Neville aside and into one of the less busy rooms. She pulled out a small rectangular object from the small bag she had slung over her shoulder, and handed it to him. It was not, he noticed with some relief, wrapped. It was a framed photo of the two of them together, and it took him a moment to realise where it was; it looked like the front steps of Hogwarts castle. They were not touching but sitting very close, glancing up occasionally at each other before looking away again. That dated it, if nothing else did. 

“It’s one of Colin’s,” she said, and his heart dipped in his chest. “I thought you might like it.” 

When he looked up at her her expression was all earnestness, not a hint of resentment whatsoever, but it still made his stomach churn with guilt. “I’ve been a terrible friend, haven’t I,” he said, low. 

She smiled but did not argue. 

“I’m sorry.” He looked back down at the photo. “This is great, Luna, thank you.” He opened his arms tentatively and she burrowed into for a hug; everything seemed to be all right again. He didn’t want to rush back into the other room, not just because it would be rude but because he wanted to let Draco and Ginny get to know each other a little since he seemed to be on a roll there. He made his rounds instead, almost forgetting to begrudge the entire event as he greeted everyone who had shown up for his benefit, a rather astonishing number of people in total. He was sure there would be a lot more at Harry’s party tomorrow, but this was still considerably more than he would have asked for, or expected. It took perhaps an hour and a half to catch up with each of them, particularly those he hadn’t seen for some time. It was a while before he found Draco again, standing slightly off to one side; when their eyes met he thought he saw something odd in his expression. 

“You okay?” he murmured, sidling up to him, wondering if someone had tried something, despite Hermione’s assurances. 

Draco had happily let Ginny ramble about Quidditch for a solid forty-five minutes, until Potter came over with a half-drunken snarl that was poorly hid. It disappeared somewhat when Ginny returned her focus to him, though Draco couldn't quite help the self-amused smirk that formed at the realization that Potter might be experiencing something like the jealousy he himself still felt lingering in the pit of his stomach. That was one thing that Draco would absolutely inflict on The Boy Who Lived, if for his own selfish reason that it meant less suspicion about his exact relationship with Neville for a little longer.

He’d been left to his own devices for a while, watching Neville walk through the room. Perhaps it had been for his own good that Eleanor interrupted him, and the ensuing conversation in French about Muggle fashion had distracted him through another glass of wine. Eventually she left him as well, off to convince Ernie it was time they headed home. 

The next time he’d looked up, Neville had been _right there_. It felt as though every iota of his being was straining towards him, and for a moment he couldn’t even breathe. But that next inhale brought with it the faintest hint of Neville’s scent along with the question, reassuringly real, and Draco nodded immediately. “Yeah,” he added, because for whatever strange insecurity he might have had in his head, he wasn’t going to bother the other man with it on his birthday.

Still, his patience seemed to have hit a breaking point, and Neville’s attention combined with the lingering jealousy in his gut had Draco asking not-quite-tentatively, “Can I steal you away for a few minutes?”

“Sure,” Neville replied easily, still concerned. “I’ve been meaning to give you the tour, anyway. Come on.” He led Draco through a closed door on the far side of the room into the corridor on the other side. It was all only half-familiar, but he let his fingers trail down the wall as they walked. He thought he remembered a nice sort of sun room in the east wing. It was much quieter once they got halfway down the hall, away from the sounds of the party. Following without question, Draco was a little relieved to stare as much as he wanted as they walked, without having to worry if anyone other than Neville himself would catch him at it.

Eventually Neville found what he thought was the right door, brightness coming through the glass panel in the door, and opened it. There were large windows through which the sun was indeed shining, though everything was covered in white sheets still. “What happened?” he asked as soon as they were through the door. “Did someone say something to you?” 

Draco blinked his eyes against the sunlight, readjusting as the door fell to behind them. “No,” he reiterated calmly, and then he chuckled a little as he offered, “It’s harder than I thought it would be. Not being able to touch you.” Draco lifted his eyes to Neville’s face as he smiled softly. “Apparently I’ve gotten spoiled,” he added with a hushed sort of playfulness.

Neville let out a short, huffing breath. “I was about to start punching people,” he joked. “You had me worried.” 

“No punching required,” Draco retorted with a hint of grin forming, giddy in the chest at the implications there. He’d obsess over that later, like the teenager with a crush that he no longer technically was. “I think Potter thought I might have been hitting on his girlfriend, which was kind of hilarious.”

Neville snorted, which made Draco’s grin solidify fully. “As if you’d have a chance. Ginny’s pretty single-minded when it comes to Harry.” He gave Draco a look for a moment before offering his hand. 

“If I was interested in birds, I’m sure I’d be very disappointed,” Draco stated, tangling his fingers with Neville’s shamelessly as he took a step closer. 

“I’m sorry you aren’t having much fun,” Neville said. “Maybe one day…” 

“You don’t need to apologize,” Draco promised quietly. Taking a bit of a chance, he reached out to lay his other hand on Neville’s waist lightly. “It’s been very educational.”

Neville’s eyes narrowed in mock suspicion. “Oh?” he asked, reaching absent-mindedly to straighten Draco’s collar. “How, exactly?”

Ginny Weasley was actually a fount of information, which was yet another reason to stay on her good side. With a tiny smirk, Draco replied, “I am all caught up on Quidditch.” 

“You were actually interested, weren’t you?” Neville asked, running his teeth anxiously along his bottom lip. “I mean I didn’t just drop you into a conversation you didn’t want to have? I really thought you’d be interested - I mean, _I’m_ not, but Gin knows that, and I thought it’d be a good way for you two to bond a little, you know, she’s my best friend, really, so I thought…” 

“Nev,” Draco interrupted the ramble gently, smiling fondly. “Yes, I was interested, and it turned out just fine. Perfectly polite and everything,” he reassured him, his fingers tightening just slightly on Neville’s waist. “Thank you,” he added, grateful for more than he could find words for. 

“For what?” Neville asked, genuinely confused. As far as he could tell all he had done was navigate painstakingly around oncoming disaster, and that not very well. 

Draco wasn’t sure he could have expressed all the things he appreciated about Neville if he had twenty scrolls of parchment to write down his thoughts. “For caring,” he answered, and then added as an afterthought, “About me.”

Neville’s anxiety faded, though he still felt a little confused. “Don’t be silly,” he said, flustered. “Of course I do. I’d be a pretty awful person otherwise, wouldn’t I?” He shook his head. Draco opened his mouth to interject that that wasn’t really what he’d meant, but he couldn’t quite explain what he _had_ intended to say, so it was just as well that Neville continued. “Anyway you’re the one who came up here for this. I don’t know if I’d have lasted so long in a room full of Slytherins, honestly.” 

“I probably wouldn’t have lasted as long in a room of Slytherins either,” Draco replied with a small, self-deprecating chuckle. Most of his childhood friends hated him for what he was trying to become, and most of the people who’d hated him during childhood still held it against him. It got a little lonely sometimes, but it did make it so that he felt that he more appreciated Neville’s time when he got to have it. “How much longer do you think the party’ll last?” he asked. 

“Not sure,” Neville admitted. “I’ve never had one like this before. How long do they usually last?” he smiled a little and let go of Draco's hand so that he could put both arms around his waist. 

“Another hour, maybe two,” Draco guessed, distracted by the weight of Neville’s arms around him. 

“Nice and quiet in here, anyway.” 

Draco took the chance of wrapping his own arms around Neville’s shoulders, pressing himself a hint closer as he did so. “It is,” he agreed with a tiny smirk. “It's very nice.”

“Should probably go back,” Neville muttered, with no real intention of moving, he felt more comfortable like this than in a room full of people. His nose brushed against Draco’s, he made a low, impatient sort of sound. “Was there something you wanted to… talk to me about?” 

Shuddering lightly at that noise, Draco beamed as he nuzzled back against Neville’s face blatantly as he said, “No, I just wanted to steal your attention for myself for a few minutes.”

“Well, you did that,” Neville breathed. He had to laugh at himself even as his fingers curled into the back of Draco’s shirt. “Damnit, aren’t we adults? This should not be _this_ difficult.” 

Draco had to admit that he got a thrill out of the knowledge that Neville was having the same trouble he was. “But it is,” he retorted with a small laugh of his own as his fingers dug into Neville’s shoulder blades. 

“Five minutes,” Neville said firmly, licking his lips. “Then we go back. Promise?” 

“Yes,” Draco replied immediately, willing to agree to pretty much anything Neville asked for at this point. 

“Good,” Neville grunted, and pulled him into a kiss. Maybe it wouldn’t have been so impossible to resist if it hadn’t been quite so long since the last time, but as soon as their lips touched he was only reminded of what exactly he had been missing.

Draco whined softly as Neville captured his mouth, submitting and opening up for the other man instantly. It had been way too long since the last time they’d done this, and Draco threw himself into the kiss whole heartedly. One hand slid up into Neville’s hair, and any thoughts about time limits dropped straight out of his head as his senses were drenched in the sheer awareness of Neville’s everything. 

Neville made a low, needy noise and pulled Draco close. It was like a drug, the heady familiarity of Draco’s body tight against his, the ridges of his spine under his hands, the smell of him. He didn’t quite know how to face this level of attraction, one which for him had started gradually and increased exponentially since the first time they had kissed.

Even now, there were times that Draco wondered if he was dreaming, because he had no idea how he’d gotten lucky enough to be allowed to kiss Neville, and on a regular basis no less. He pushed himself against the taller man as much as possible, despite having already been tugged in against Neville's chest. Letting out a small moan of his own, Draco dipped his tongue into Neville’s mouth, tasting the alcohol from their drinks. 

Neville’s hands slipped automatically under Draco’s shirt, untucking it from his trousers, as he eagerly let Draco into his mouth. His heart was already beating faster, his breathing heavier; a little voice in the back of his head was saying that this was a terrible idea, but another louder voice was enjoying the risk. It was a part of himself he hadn’t known existed until all of this started, a daring, reckless part. 

Draco wasn’t faring much better, his heart racing in his chest and his lungs struggling to keep up with the demands on them. He shivered as Neville’s fingers found the skin of his back, goosebumps popping up in the wake of the warmth of his touch. 

Neville was just about ready to give up entirely, to throw Draco down on one of the sheet-covered futons and start tearing off his clothes, and he could feel himself getting hard at the thought of it. He started running through scenarios - maybe they could come up with some excuse for leaving early? He growled a little in the back of his throat -

“Oh!” 

Neville’s heart dropped out of his stomach at the startled exclamation; for a moment he was so disoriented he almost stumbled and fell as he whipped around. Hermione was standing in the open doorway with her hands over her mouth. 

The sudden loss of Neville’s chest against his own left Draco little wobbly on his feet for half a moment, and he was abruptly much colder than he had been a few seconds prior. All of that paled in comparison to the jolt of nerves that shot through him as he realized that they’d been caught. Of all the people that could have walked in on them, it was probably best that it was Hermione - but the situation was still far from ideal, especially with the way her eyes had definitely shifted from Neville to him, and then back again. 

“Hermione - ” Neville started, and then didn’t know what else to say. 

“Um... they’re, er…. going to cut the cake,” she said, lowering her hands to just below her chin, her eyes very wide as she stared at both of them. 

“Hermione,” Neville said again, mind racing with panic. “I… it’s not…” 

“Oh my god,” she breathed, her eyes still flicking between them. Neville hurried over and shut the door behind her. Had he forgotten to close it all the way? What an _idiot_. 

Draco took a deep breath, his mind immediately churning through possible solutions to this problem. But it seemed as though time really wasn’t on their side, and he ignored his slightly trembling hands as he suggested, “Maybe we should go back for cake, and we can answer whatever questions you have later?” Hopefully _after_ they had time to talk, alone. 

“Absolutely not!” Hermione exclaimed, and the high-pitched tone of her voice made Draco startle all over again. 

“Shhh,” Neville warned. “Hermione, look, no one knows -” 

“I should think not!” she cried, even louder than before, looking incredulously between the two of them. “How long has this been going on?” 

“I don’t know that that’s really important…” Draco attempted, and the glare Hermione fixed him with convinced him not to try that tactic any further. “A few months, give or take?”

“ _Months_ ?!” Hermione hissed, returning her gaze to Neville as she continued, “Are you _serious_?”

Neville swallowed. This was why he hadn’t told anyone. What was worse was knowing that Hermione was arguably the most sensible person he knew, and on top of that she _liked_ Draco these days. This was probably the best reaction they were going to get, which didn’t bode well for the future at all. “Actually, yes,” he said, flatly. “It started after Ernie’s engagement party.” 

“Oh, Merlin.” She paused for a minute, and Neville thought he could almost see her thinking. The silence had Draco tensing even further, unsure of what was going to happen next. “You realise…” she said finally, looking Neville in the eyes. 

“Yes,” he said, knowing what she meant to ask before she could even form the words. 

“But, Neville...” 

“Yes,” he said again, more firmly this time. “I don’t care. I…” He looked over at Draco for a moment; their eyes met. “I don’t care,” he said again, soft. 

All of the air seemed to have left Draco’s lungs upon hearing that assertion, and he was certain he was blushing. “Nev,” he said, just as quietly, and then bit down on whatever might have followed - those words would only be for Neville’s ears, no matter how much he liked Hermione. He reached up to run his fingers through his hair, suddenly feeling a little shy. 

Hermione let out a long, exasperated breath, but when Neville looked back at her she didn’t look angry. If anything there was a hint of amusement in her expression. “You do know how to make things difficult for yourself,” she said, and Neville wasn’t entirely sure which one of them she was speaking to. “You’re as bad as Harry.” 

Neville snorted. “Well, I wouldn’t go _that_ far.” 

She gave him a sharp look. “I do think you could have told me,” she said, sounding a little hurt. Draco winced slightly at that, because Hermione definitely would have been his first choice of who to tell, if they’d been able to make such a decision.

“I thought about it,” Neville said, sheepishly. “Honestly I did, but I didn’t want to have to ask you to keep it from Ron.” He hesitated. “You will though, won’t you?” 

She sighed. “Yes, I suppose I’ll have to.” She made a rueful face, and he knew she was imagining his reaction when he eventually found out. 

“Thanks.” He swallowed. “I just… we just want to see where this goes, you know, before… before it all blows up in our faces. It’s private, right now… it’s just easier if we aren’t fighting off the world at the same time.” 

“I understand.” She turned her eyes back on Draco again. “Although you and I are going to have a serious conversation the next time I get you alone, Draco Malfoy.” 

“I rather suspected as much,” Draco said, resigned to his fate - he’d answer whatever questions Hermione threw his way, no matter that it was probably going to be rather uncomfortable. “Could we… get a moment to straighten ourselves out, and we’ll be along for cake in just a minute?” he tried, not quite tentative.

She rolled her eyes. “I will cover for you for _two_ minutes,” she said, giving them both a stern look. “Hurry up.” 

“Okay, okay,” Neville sighed, and opened the door for her to leave. 

When she was gone, they were left staring across the room at each other, still a little breathless. “Well,” Neville said finally, grimacing. “That could have gone worse.” 

“Much worse,” Draco agreed, infinitely glad it hadn’t been anyone else who’d walked in on them. “Your hair is… messier than usual. Sorry,” he offered with a small chuckle as he took a step forward, reaching out to straighten the collar of Neville’s shirt. 

Neville laughed, nervously, his heart still pounding with the shock of having been discovered. He tucked Draco’s shirt back into his pants while Draco straightened him out in turn. “Note to self,” he muttered. “Next time, lock the door.” 

“Indeed,” Draco agreed, combing his fingers through Neville’s hair in an attempt to make it look as though he hadn’t been tugging at it just a few minutes ago. “I think you’re presentable.”

“Thanks.” Neville stood back and sighed. “They’re going to sing,” he predicted with trepidation. “It’ll be awful.”

“If you really want, I can probably cause a distraction of some sort,” Draco offered, only halfway joking as he forced himself not to follow as Neville put distance between them. “Maybe get Finnigan to inadvertently blow something up?”

“Wouldn’t take much,” Neville chuckled. “I appreciate the offer. But I should probably just get it over with or I’ll never hear the end of it.” He hesitated just a moment, before leaning in and kissing Draco one more time, quickly. Then he reached back and opened the door, and they stepped back out into the dark corridor. 

Draco beamed, and the expression stayed on his face as they stepped into the hall. He schooled himself when he caught sight of Hermione's almost suspicious look at him over Neville’s shoulder. “So, what exactly is your objection to us taking this property off Neville’s hands?” he asked her in a blatant attempt to get her thinking about anything other than what she’d just witnessed. 

Hermione’s expression said that she saw right through this unsubtle endeavour. “It’s not an _objection_ ,” she said, still clearly a little flustered by what she had just seen, as they started back towards the party. “It’s a very generous offer, but we can’t run a building right now, let alone a school… we don’t have the resources. I have a full-time job, in case you’d forgotten.” 

“I could figure something out,” Draco replied, already thinking through possibilities as they walked. “And it wouldn’t be a full-time school. Just a seasonal type thing.”

“I’m not accepting a donation of property and twenty acres based on your vague idea,” Hermione said, which Neville thought was a little harsh, even if it made a sensible kind of sense; maybe she was still bristling. She sighed. “Write me a detailed proposal, and I’ll think about it. It can be _your_ pet project.” 

“You’re the boss,” Draco agreed with a small shrug that Hermione wouldn’t be able to see with the way she was walking in front of him. He was getting tenser the closer they got to the main party again, even though there was no reason to think that anyone would suspect anything. 

Neville could sense the tension in Draco’s arm beside him. Before Hermione pushed open the door to the main room, he reached out and squeezed his hand, just for a second, for what little comfort he could give. He let go just in time as they stepped through, whereupon he was assaulted by about fifty people singing Happy Birthday at the top of their lungs in a cacophony of off-key voices. 

Drawing in a deep breath as he felt Neville’s fingers curl around his own briefly, Draco steeled himself, his spine stiffening so he stood a little straighter. It was unlikely that too many people would be looking at him anyway, and he didn’t envy Neville the attention that landed on him full force as they stepped into the room. 

Once the song was done, Draco slipped away to grab himself another glass of wine, no matter how ill-advised of a decision that might be, and then found himself an abandoned couch to sit on for a few minutes, not really expecting to be drawn into conversation again. 

Neville let himself get swept up in the birthday enthusiasm; he ate cake, he let people give him gifts which most people thankfully did not insist that he open immediately, he said goodbye to people who (blissfully) at last started leaving. At one point he thought Draco might have slipped out - and wouldn’t have blamed him - but eventually caught sight of him sitting alone on one of the sofas. The more people who left, however, the weirder it might have looked if he’d have joined him rather than seeing everyone else off, so he held back. He felt exhausted; he wasn’t even horny anymore, he just wanted them all to go so he could sit quietly with Draco for a while, even just for a few minutes on his birthday. It didn’t seem like too much to ask. Eventually it was just Ginny, Harry and Luna left, Hermione having made a point of dragging Ron off before he could get so drunk that the second party the next day would be torture no matter how many potions he drank. Seamus was in pretty much the same way, so she grabbed him too on the way out.

“I can do this,” Neville protested, as the girls started clearing up. “You’ve done enough.” 

“Don’t be stupid,” Ginny chided, waving her wand so that a pile of paper plates very narrowly missed his head on the way to the bin. “It’s your party.”

“Don’t you have another one to be setting up for?” he hinted, ducking a ball of wrapping paper. 

“I have time for that tomorrow. Harry, pass me that bowl, will you?” 

Harry gave Neville an apologetic look, his expression shifting as he noticed Draco over Neville’s shoulder. “What’s he still doing here?” he wondered aloud. 

“I promised him a proper tour of the house,” Neville lied, so easily that he immediately wondered if maybe spending time with Draco wasn’t rubbing off on him, a little. He was normally such a terrible liar. “For the Foundation. He’s waiting, so maybe you three could bugger off, hm?” 

“Ooh, that’s nice,” Ginny said, sticking her tongue out at him. “After I threw you such a nice party.” 

He sighed. “It was a nice party,” he promised her, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “Thank you. Please never do it again.” 

Harry laughed, and Luna grinned as Ginny threw a ball of string at Neville’s head with a Chaser’s accuracy. Harry caught it deftly in the air before it could land and tossed it up and down in his hand. “C’mon Gin,” he chuckled, though he gave Neville a pointed look and added, in a tone just loud enough for Draco to hear, “we know where to look for your body if you don’t show up tomorrow.” 

Draco rolled his eyes and fought the urge to give Potter a rude hand gesture. He didn’t, for Neville’s sake. 

Neville swallowed a rush of anger, because he knew Harry was mostly joking and because he didn’t want to get into a fight in which he might say something he regretted, but it was difficult. Harry took Ginny’s hand and they Disapparated together.

Luna beamed at Neville but showed no sign of going to leave. Not sure how to ask her again without being impolite, Neville sort of shifted back towards the front room where Draco was sitting, hoping she would follow. She caught his arm before he could reach the main door. “You did like the picture?” she asked, earnestly. 

“I… yeah, of course,” he said, brain scrambling to keep up. 

She smiled. “It’s good to see you,” she said, a little low, and then before he could realise what was happening, she stood up on the tips of her toes and kissed him. 

He pulled away quickly, but the damage was done.

Draco felt his heart drop straight down to his feet as he realized what Lovegood was doing. A strange mix of jealousy and horror overtook him, leaving his stomach in knots, and he closed his eyes so he didn’t have to look any longer. He had no idea how to react to this, and so he intentionally made himself freeze, rooted to his seat on the couch. 

Neville could feel heat rising in his cheeks and he didn’t dare look around. He knew Draco had seen, there was no way he could not have. “Um, Luna,” he started, with no idea what he was going to say. “I’m sorry, I…” 

She looked puzzled rather than offended, but that was Luna for you. “What’s the matter?” she asked. 

Neville swallowed, the back of his neck burning where he was sure Draco was glaring at him. “I… er…” he stammered, reduced to a fifteen year old boy whose language skills were no match for this kind of situation. “I didn’t think… you can’t just…” he shook his head. “I’m not… available… right now,” he managed, all awkwardness. 

Draco’s eyes flew open as he heard Neville’s words, beyond amazed. Neville had already explicitly chosen him once this evening, and here he was doing it again, and... Draco still didn’t understand why, but he couldn’t bring himself to question or ruin it in any way. He forced himself to breathe slowly, trying to calm his suddenly racing heart. 

“Oh.” For a moment Neville thought he saw a look of disappointment on Luna’s face, but it was gone in a flash, and she patted his arm sympathetically. “Well. See you tomorrow then.” 

Heart pounding, he opened the door for her, because he was still a gentleman, and closed it behind her. She left behind what seemed to him a very oppressive silence.

Draco stepped up to Neville’s side, reaching out tentatively to rest one hand on his waist. He took a deep breath, the comforting scent of Neville filling his lungs as he did so. _‘I don’t deserve you,’_ he thought but didn’t say. “You’re unbelievable,” escaped him instead, enamored and enchanted, impossibly fond and more than a little in awe. 

“I know,” Neville sighed, turning around extremely reluctantly. In his shock and guilt over what had just happened he heard nothing but censure in Draco’s voice. “I know, I’m sorry, I swear I didn’t know she was… that she would… I’m such an _idiot_ , first the stupid door and now this…” His shoulders slumped. “I’m so sorry.” 

“You’re not an idiot,” Draco said instantly, a bit stern. He abandoned all the reservations he’d had while there had been company - witnesses - and immediately moved to wrap his arms around Neville’s waist. “Hey,” he murmured softly, tucking his face into the space where Neville had slumped, pushing his way entirely into the taller man’s space. Draco nuzzled against the first patch of skin he could find, and then continued, “You have absolutely nothing to apologize for.”

“What?” Neville breathed, incredulously, though he didn’t _quite_ pull away. “I just kissed someone else! In front of you! How are you not furious right now?” 

“No, you got kissed in front of me,” Draco argued. “And how could I possibly be mad when you _turned someone else down_ because of me?” Now he was the one sounding incredulous, but he felt rather justified. Draco took another deep breath, and then tried again. “How could I possibly be mad when you chose _me_?”

“Well, what was I meant to do?” Neville replied, still feeling weirdly disoriented. “Go with Luna? Were you expecting me to go make out with her under one of the dust sheets, or what?” 

His stomach dipped suddenly; he stood back and stared at Draco for a second. “You were, weren’t you,” he said, now somehow feeling guilty and hurt at the same time. “You thought I would just ditch you? What do you take me for?” 

“No, Nev, that’s not…” Draco flailed, confused, feeling as though he’d somehow messed up terribly when his intention had been to do the opposite. “I’m sorry,” he tried, not daring to look up just yet. “I just wanted to celebrate the end of your birthday with you.”

Neville rubbed his arm. He didn’t know what to say, there were too many conflicting emotions to try and process. He had honestly thought that Draco knew him better than that, would know that he wouldn’t fool around with anyone else even as a cover, even as a _joke_. He knew he ought to be glad that Draco wasn’t storming out in disgust, but he wasn’t sure this wasn’t just as bad. “So did I,” he said, low. He sighed heavily. “We knew this would be complicated,” he said, finally. 

There was an air pf finality in that statement that knocked the breath out of Draco, and he couldn’t help worrying that the next thing Neville would say was that it was _too_ complicated, that it wasn’t worth the hassle, the effort, to keep doing this. “Yeah. Complicated,” he agreed, though the word didn’t seem to fully encompass everything that they - and their situation - were. Letting out a soft sigh of his own, Draco steeled himself to ask, “What do you want to do?”

Neville bit his lip for a moment. He was so tired, suddenly. All he really wanted to do was curl up on one of the sofas, together, but he didn’t know if he could do that now without confusing things further. “I want… I want to talk about why you seem to think I’m ready to drop you at a moment’s notice,” he managed, his stomach churning. “Have I done something to make you think I’m not serious? Is it because I’m keeping us a secret from everyone? Because I thought you understood that…” 

That response was not even close to what Draco had been expecting, but it did ratchet up the tension in his spine ten-fold. He inhaled deeply again, and decided to start with the easiest answer. “No, I totally understand that. No objections there, remember? And after what happened with Hermione today… it makes even more sense to continue that way.” There was a distinct possibility that she was going to eviscerate him with her words the next time they saw each other.

He paused for another deep breath. Swallowing thickly around the sudden lump in his throat, Draco continued, “I wasn’t trying to be insulting, or insinuate that… this,” he motioned vaguely to the space between them, “isn’t important. It’s just… we’ve never established anything like exclusivity, and I didn’t want to make any assumptions in that regard.”

Neville did his best not to be annoyed that Draco was talking about their relationship like it was some kind of legal contract. _Assumptions in that regard,_ indeed. “Then maybe we should talk about it,” he said flatly. “Because if you really think I care so little about you that I’d just...” he swallowed, barely able to frame the thought, let alone say the words. “That hurts,” he said finally, crossing his arms over his chest. “That you don’t trust me.” 

Admittedly, Draco hadn’t really thought about it like that. “I do trust you,” he started, because he hated to think that that had ever been called into question. “More than anyone.” He rolled his shoulders, feeling as though he was able to expose a raw nerve. “I just… I don’t understand. You could have anyone you want, and sometimes I still can’t believe you’re choosing _me_. You could do so much better, someone you wouldn’t have to hide, and I would totally understand if that’s the route you decide to go down, because at the end of the day, I just want you to be happy. And yeah, I love being the reason there’s a smile on your face, but your smile is more important than what put it there.”

Neville frowned as he listened to this nonsensical ramble, finding himself getting angrier as it went on until he was boiling, fists clenched. “That… is a load of rubbish! Even if I could ‘have anyone I want’, which is utter nonsense anyway, I don’t _want_ anyone else, so it’s completely beside the point. And you’re telling me that if I told you right now that actually I rather fancy Luna, and I left you here and went after her, you’d be totally fine? Because if someone you used to snog in school showed up and you went off with them, particularly if it was _right in front of my face_ , I would not be happy for you, Draco, I would be fucking livid, and I’d never speak to you again, so _fuck you."_

He let out a sharp, pained breath and slumped back against the door, turning his face away. 

Draco felt his chest clench heavily at the statement that Neville didn’t want anyone else, and he held onto both the sensation and the words even as he deflated further and further while Neville continued to rant at him. He closed his eyes as he felt the tightness in his throat that was the precursor to tears, and tried to clamp down on it. Things were bad enough without him crying. “But that’s not what happened,” he tried quietly, feeling as though he was just making things worse but apparently unable to stop himself. “My hypothetical heartbreak aside… I didn’t know if I was allowed to try and fight for you. I never want to ask for more than you’re willing to give.” He paused, and then offered, “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to upset you.”

“Well, you did,” Neville said, low. Which was crazy, because two minutes ago he was sure Draco would be the one angry and upset. It was difficult to explain why a _lack_ of anger and jealousy was upsetting to him, but it was. He didn’t think a little jealousy was too much to ask, under the circumstances. “You know you’ll never know how much I’m willing to give until you _ask_. And yes, I want you to fight for me, because after today I think I’m going to spend a lot of time in the future fighting for _you_ , and I can’t… I can’t do it if you’re doubting me, or you’re… you’re not sure about this.”

The feeling of impending tears got stronger, sinking down to sit in his gut heavily. Draco took another deep breath to try and ward it off, but his voice was firm with resolve as he said, “I want to be with you more than I’ve ever wanted anything. And I’ll do whatever I have to in order for that to be a continued reality.” He sighed again. “I don’t know how to prove it to you. But I can try. Whatever it takes, from this day forward.”

Neville swallowed and looked up, trying to ease the uncomfortable lump in his throat. He knew Draco was risking a lot by being with him - although arguably perhaps not as much as _he_ was - and that had to be hard, but he had always seemed so sure about it. Almost flippant about being with Neville despite what his parents would surely think, let alone whatever friends he still had. Neville still wasn’t sure he understood, but he could see how upset Draco was. Maybe that would have to be enough for now. He unclenched his arm and reached up to rub at his own eyes. “All right,” he said, low, and sighed, straightening up and away from the door. “I’m tired,” he admitted. “Let’s sit down. Unless… you don’t want to?” He felt a little tug at his heart at the thought that Draco might just go home and leave him in his own misery; had he been too harsh? Had any of it even made sense? He didn’t think he’d had that much to drink, but it probably hadn’t helped. 

Draco hadn’t really been expecting such an invitation - he’d rather thought Neville might want time alone to process everything that had just been said. But he wasn’t about to turn down the offer, especially not when he thought he’d managed to mess everything up. “I want to,” he stated with an emphatic nod of his head. “I want… can I touch you?” Draco braved, looking for just the smallest bit of physical contact, at this point, to help ground him when he felt like he was about to shake right out of his own skin.

Neville snorted. “Of course you can touch me, you prat,” he muttered, practically falling into the corner of one of the ancient settees. “I’m not exactly in the mood for raucous sex right now, but it’s not _that_ far gone.” He beckoned Draco over, kicking off his shoes and making himself as comfortable as possible. 

An unexpected chuckle startled out of Draco at that statement, and he moved over to the sofa Neville had chosen without even thinking about it. He was pretty shameless about how close into Neville’s side he curled into, tucking his face in against the side of his neck. Relaxing in rapid increments, Draco kept his breathing even, taking a moment to appreciate the scent of Neville and commit it to memory once again.

“First fight,” Neville muttered after a while, his arm curled loosely around Draco’s waist. “Must be real now.” He let out a sort of breathless, shuddering laugh. “If you’d have told me five years ago I’d be furious that you _weren’t_ shouting at me…” 

Smiling almost humorlessly at that, Draco agreed, “It’s amazing, how many things have changed.” He wouldn’t change it for the world though. “Sorry it happened on your birthday,” he said, because he truly was. “I’d had plans for seducing you,” he admitted, though there was a good chance Neville had already guessed that.

Neville smiled ruefully. “Another time, I promise.” He reached up and ran his fingers loosely through Draco’s hair. “Just so we’re clear,” he said, low. “I don’t... want to see other people. Or whatever it is people say.” 

Having his hair played with in any fashion was one of Draco’s favorite things, and he automatically tilted his head into the touch more. “Me either,” he said softly. “You’re all I need.”

“Good,” Neville sighed, feeling a little bit of the tension that was clenching his stomach fade away. “That’s all you really had to say, you know.” 

“I… will remember that,” Draco replied, because really, that seemed deceptively easy, in hindsight, but in the moment, he was confident that he hadn’t known that saying so would have been helpful. 

“I guess that makes it official then,” Neville said, heart jumping a little. “Well, not publically official… but you know what I mean.” He swallowed. 

Draco understood what Neville had meant by that - or at least, he thought he did, but in the spirit of the last few minutes, he decided not to take anything for granted. “Does that make you my boyfriend?” he asked, just to make sure he’d covered all his bases, a hint of smile forming at the corner of his lips. 

Neville’s breath caught in his throat. “And I thought Hermione walking in on us would be the most dramatic thing that happened tonight.” A small laugh. “Poor Hermione. Thank Merlin neither of us had our pants down.” 

Blowing out a huff of air at that commentary, Draco would have nodded if he wasn’t worried about dislodging his hair from Neville’s fingers. “If she’d taken a few more minutes, we might have been in a much _more_ awkward situation,” he said with a tiny laugh of his own. 

“Please don’t.” Neville made a face. “I don’t want to think about it. Ugh. I’m thinking about it.” He turned his face into Draco’s shoulder.

“Sorry.” 

“But I guess… yes. Being exclusive… makes me your boyfriend. That is my very basic understanding of how this works.” 

Draco beamed widely at that confirmation. “Makes me yours too, then,” he added, another thrill running through him with that. 

“I guess so. That’s… good to know.” 

“Yeah,” Draco agreed, pulling back just a little bit so that he could look at Neville’s face. “It is,” he agreed with a small grin, reaching out to comb his fingers into Neville’s hair in return. 

“I’m sorry if I was…” Neville bit his lip. “I didn’t mean to shout at you like that, I’m sorry.” 

Draco blinked once, just a little confused - he didn’t think he’d ever had anyone actually apologize for raising their voice at him. “It’s okay,” he said, because it was - Neville didn’t seem to be upset any more, and they’d moved past the disagreement, at least for now. 

“I guess we’re both new to this whole thing,” Neville admitted. “Bound to be a few stumbling points. Maybe more than usual, with our, er… situation.” He winced. 

Neville certainly wasn’t wrong there, but Draco didn’t particularly like his wince at the end, the implication of all the weight of years looming over them. “But we’ll figure it out together?” he offered.

Neville sighed again, but with contentment this time, and let himself relax properly, with Draco’s body settling into his arms. “I’m so not looking forward to doing this again tomorrow night,” he murmured. “The party, I mean, not the rest of it.” 

Draco could feel the tension leave Neville’s muscles, and he tucked himself in as close as possible. “Hopefully we won’t have to deal with ‘the rest’ for a while again,” he commented optimistically. “And at least it’s not _your_ party tomorrow, so maybe it won’t be as bad.”

Neville grunted grudging agreement. “I suppose I can find a quiet corner to sit in and no one will judge me.” He let his fingers tangle in Draco’s hair again. “I don’t want to leave it so long next time,” he said. “Before we see each other.”

“Me either,” Draco agreed, another pleased sigh escaping him as he felt Neville’s fingers on his scalp once more. He took a deep breath and offered, “The next time you come over, I’ll key you to my wards. So you can come over whenever.” Even when Draco wasn’t home, which should have been a more terrifying prospect than it actually was. It wasn’t as though he had anything to hide from Neville these days. 

“Really?” Neville said, his heart lifting. That seemed like a big, important thing. Intimate. He was after all a Pureblood, and he had been raised on the idea that Apparating directly into someone else’s home was the absolute height of rudeness. Like letting someone else use your wand. “I… I wouldn’t want to just barge in on you, though…”

“It’s not ‘barging in’ if you have a standing, open invitation,” Draco argued. It was kind of a big deal - the magical equivalent of giving Neville the keys to the front door. “And yes, really. If you want, I mean.”

“What if you don’t want to see me?” 

“Then I will tell you so. But I don’t foresee that happening.”

“Thanks,” Neville said softly. “Really… I don’t really feel like I deserve it right now, but… thank you.” He smiled quietly to himself. 


	10. Swimming

A trip to a Muggle pool was not something Draco had ever envisioned himself participating in, even after he started working with the Foundation and its kids on a regular basis. Flailing about in the water had never been something he’d been particularly interested in; he could remember trips to the beaches in France with his parents when he’d been a child, and even then he’d been more interested in building sandcastles and hiding from the sun so he didn’t get burnt. But, he wasn’t about to _not_ go just because it wasn’t his cup of tea - aside from it not being worth the lecture on ‘dodging his responsibilities’ from his mother or the judgmental looks from Hermione, the knowledge that Neville had agreed to go as well was incentive enough on its own.

After the incident at Neville’s birthday party, Draco had fully expected to get an earful as soon as he’d next seen Hermione. Thankfully, she had deigned not to have that conversation in front of anyone else, including Madison, whom Draco had had in his lap, reading a book together when she’d found him a week after the fact. Once she’d run off to play with her friends though, Hermione had not held back. Whatever ‘conversation’ Draco might have been expecting, he was not prepared for the level of interrogation he had actually experienced - though he’d definitely drawn his own lines at the questions that verged on far too personal. And it felt rather creepy, to have the story of his developing crush, and then the night/day of revelations that had been that first time, and the subsequent dates, all nit-picked over and questioned and examined even more closely than Draco thought he himself had done. At the end of it though, Hermione had looked a lot less suspicious, and even the threat that Draco had been expecting wasn’t quite as brutal as he’d steeled himself for. 

In any case, it had gone as well as could be expected, and they’d been able to return to business as usual, for the most part. There were times though, that he caught Hermione giving him an assessing look, and he wasn’t always entirely sure what might have caused it. Today, though, it was most definitely the fact that Neville had just stepped into the living room that was the unofficial meeting space within the foundation house itself. Draco refrained from grinning too wide across the room at the other man, but he did smile just a bit, feeling more confident in their relationship now, even if it was still a secret from everyone else.

Neville meanwhile had had an uncommonly good week, with no disasters, emergencies or paperwork cock ups, and he had even gotten a rare one over Phillip in training. He had a bit of extra energy, for once, so when Hermione asked him to help supervise some children to make sure they didn’t drown, he said yes despite guessing that this was her way of observing him and Draco together in a neutral environment. She could be pretty transparent sometimes, but he found that he didn’t really mind. He winked at Draco when he came in, and accepted a giant bag from Hermione when she hauled it into his arms. He lifted it easily over his shoulder. “Are there extra kids in this?” he asked, grunting at the unexpected weight.

“Towels,” she said, practically. 

Draco felt the tips of his ears flush when Neville winked at him, though in return he watched pretty blatantly as Neville’s muscles shifted under his shirt.

“Go put those in the bus,” Hermione instructed. “Draco, you can show him where it is and then I need you to come help me corral the kids.”

“Sure,” Draco agreed with a wider grin, moving towards the door that Neville had just walked through and holding it open for him.

“Still in one piece then,” Neville observed as Draco walked him back through the door. “Am I going to regret being dragged into this?” 

“For now. I do suspect she might be trying to lure me into a false sense of security, but…” Draco shrugged, because it was the only way he knew how to express how little he cared if that was actually the case. “That depends. How much do you like water and/or small children?”

“Honestly? Not enough experience with either to say for sure,” Neville admitted. “I mean, I can swim, but only enough to stay afloat, and I haven’t really spoken to a little kid since I _was_ a little kid.” 

“Large bodies of water have never really been my thing,” Draco said with another shrug, leading Neville outside. “And we're only taking nine kids.”

“Great, so I just have to keep three of them alive,” Neville chuckled. He looked over to see the bus parked outside. “And who’s going to be driving that thing?” 

Draco chuckled as well, nodding as he said, “Only three. And we’ll help.” Leading Neville over to the bus, he opened the back door where the rest of the stuff Hermione had insisted on bringing was stored as well. “Jorge is driving. He is, as Hermione says, ‘a Jack of all trades’. He takes care of the yard and any of the random household stuff that needs fixing.”

“Useful fellow,” Neville muttered, hauling the heavy bag into the small remaining space. “Interesting name. Where’s he from?” 

“Somewhere in America. His sister Luisa is one of the caretakers for the kids,” Draco answered. “Mother hired them, I didn’t ask for the whole story,” he admitted with a shrug, closing the bus door once he was sure Neville was clear of it. 

Draco glanced around quickly once, and when he didn’t see anyone, he smirked, reaching out to snag one of Neville’s belt loops with his fingers. He tugged the taller man toward him gently, saying, “I missed you. Hi.”

“Hi,” Neville replied, grinning. “Missed you too.” He let Draco draw him in and kissed him quickly. “I don’t care if it’s a trap if I get to see you during the day.” 

“Yeah,” Draco agreed, taking the risk of leaning in to steal another brief kiss. He heard the front door slam open, followed by a high-pitched yell of excitement that was most definitely one of the children. “That’s our cue,” he said with a small sigh, wishing they’d managed more than just a few seconds. “If we don’t go, they’re going to come looking for us.”

“Better go then,” Neville said, chuckling. They had barely come back around to the front of the bus before several children came hurtling towards them, and a couple of them slammed into Draco’s side. “Swim swim swim!” They exclaimed in high pitched tones of excitement. 

“Yes, tiny feral magical beings, we are going swimming,” Draco confirmed affectionately. All four children giggled at his term, and he smiled warmly at the group, suddenly vividly aware of Neville standing behind him. “This is…” he turned, and asked Neville directly, “What would you prefer?”

“Oh,” Neville blinked, taken by surprise. He was hardly going to ask a bunch of kids to call him “Mr Longbottom” - even if it didn’t make him feel old, he doubted they’d be able to keep a straight face. “I’m Neville,” he said, waving. 

“Hi Neville!” was the chorus he received back, and before they could jump on him with questions - possibly not just figuratively, Alexandra Nott was looking particularly fidgety today - Draco drew their attention back to him. 

“Neville is joining us for our trip to the pool today,” he explained, reaching for the wand in his pocket to Summon the clipboard containing his copy of Hermione's checklist for the day. “Does everyone have their bags?” he asked the group at large, marking the appropriate column for the children standing in front of him when they nodded. “Swimming costumes? Change of clothes? A towel?”

Mika Shafiq’s eyes got very wide, and his head stopped nodding in agreement. He was a rather nervous child to start with, though he seemed to be doing better recently. “It’s okay, Mika, we have lots of extras,” Draco said, and continued on down his list. 

Neville thought he could tell which of the assembled children were the Muggleborns; the ones whose eyes widened with fascination at the sight of the clipboard flying through the air. They all seemed to have an equal level of enthusiasm for the trip, however, and there was something adorable and unexpected about seeing Draco handle them, and the way they looked back up at him with excited, trusting eyes. 

Draco still felt his ears flushing slightly, but he tried to focus on the kids and the task at hand. He finished going through his list with the four in front of him and waved them onto the bus. On the front porch, Luisa had another four, and was starting to lead them down the driveway to them. With that, they were only missing Hermione and Maddie, which Draco frowned at very slightly, suspicious only because history had taught him to be. Before he could think about it too long though, he had a more pressing issue to concern himself with, because his mother and Aunt Andi and Teddy were making their way towards them. 

“Mother,” he greeted, trying not to sound surprised. “I wasn’t aware we were going to be seeing you all today.” His eyes went to the little boy in Aunt Andi’s arms, who was scowling at him in the way he always did. The expression looked hilariously like Potter’s had, the night of Neville’s birthday, and the sight of it made him want to laugh every time. “Hello, Teddy,” he said politely instead, not at all surprised when he didn’t get a response. 

“Hermione invited us to go swimming with you,” Andromeda interjected, and Draco did not trust the gleam in her eye as she spoke. 

Still, that didn't stop him from raising his eyebrows and confirming with a hint of surprise, “Did she, now?” Clever tactic, but not one that Draco appreciated in the least. 

Neville wasn’t entirely sure what was going on, or why Draco’s eyes were narrowed slightly. He recognised Andromeda Tonks, of course. Her resemblance to Bellatrix Lestrange always made his stomach turn a little, and was enough to make him wonder what on earth his Gran would say if she found out he was spending his afternoon with not only one, but _three_ direct blood relatives of the people who had tortured his parents. Teddy, he thought, probably didn’t count. He decided he would just have to try not to think about it. “Mrs Tonks,” he greeted her politely, though he had some difficulty actually meeting her eyes. “Mrs Malfoy.” 

“Neff!” Teddy exclaimed, on seeing him, and waved his hands. Neville hadn’t expected to be recognised by a two year old, but he smiled and gave the boy a quick salute. Harry sometimes had Teddy at their place when Neville visited, and he had managed to enamour him last time with a simple trick using some of the seeds he always seemed to have in the bottom of his pockets. 

“Someone seems to be a fan of yours already,” Draco commented, waving his mother and aunt up to take seats on the bus before they were overrun by the other half of the children. As that group got closer, he saw Hermione turn the corner of the house, Madison’s hand in hers, and Draco couldn’t quite help the glare he sent her way, even if she couldn’t see it.

“I’m so sorry, I had no idea she was going to do that,” Draco offered in the brief interlude of solitude they had before Luisa and the kids would get to them.

“I don’t get it,” Neville admitted, glancing between Hermione and the women climbing somewhat awkwardly onto the bus. “What’s her angle? Is she trying to get us in trouble with your mother, because I can probably manage that all on my own.” 

“I am really not sure,” Draco replied, feeling the tension in his spine and shoulders tighten. “I’m sorry, Nev, if I had known, I would have told you.” And possibly warned him not to come, Draco was more than a little nervous about all the different ways this might end terribly. 

Neville looked over at him. “I’m fine,” he said, and dared to brush his fingers, just for a moment, soothingly across the small of Draco’s back. The touch did temporarily relax him, distracted from his thoughts by the warmth of Neville’s hand. “Don’t worry about it. If I can’t handle some of your relatives for an afternoon there’s not much hope for me.” He smiled, which Draco returned with a rueful one of his own. “Let’s just try and have fun.” After all, he thought, it was a pretty odd way of going about it if Hermione was trying to catch them out. It wasn’t as though they couldn’t control themselves - at least, he amended himself ruefully, when they weren’t in private. He looked up to watch her approaching. “Weird seeing your mum in Muggle things,” he added, off-handedly. 

The comment startled a chuckle out of Draco, and he agreed, “Incredibly so, yes.” That was all he managed to say before the second round of children descended upon them, and he was drawn into verifying they were all prepared for the trip at hand. He introduced Neville to them as well, and was herding them onto the bus when he felt something rather small collide with his legs, and then wrap around them tightly. 

Draco was not at all surprised to find that it was Madison when he looked down, and he grinned fondly at the little girl as he chuckled. “Are you ready to go swimming?” he asked as he bent down to pick her up, planting her on his hip as he straightened. 

Madison nodded, a little uncertain, and peered over Draco’s shoulder at Neville. “Hi,” he said, smiling. “Remember me?” 

She hesitated a moment before nodding again. “From ice cream.” 

Neville laughed just as Hermione drew level with them. “What’s this?” she asked, brow furrowing. “What about ice cream?” 

“I’m famous,” Neville teased. 

“I’m glad it’s the ice cream part you remember most clearly from that day,” Draco stated to Madison, though she just blinked at him owlishly. 

Hermione looked at them both slightly suspiciously for a moment, to which Draco raised a single eyebrow and reminded her, “Joke shop? Allergies?”

“Oooh. You did mention running into Neville that day, didn’t you,” Hermione responded in the thoughtful way that indicated it wasn’t actually a question, but Draco answered anyway.

“Yes. You’re the last one, do I need to run through the day’s checklist for you as well?”

“Very funny,” she said, rolling her eyes at him. “Go on, we better get moving before it’s already dinner time.” They all climbed up onto the bus, most of the children chattering with excitement as the adults went down the rows, buckling them in. 

Draco had less trouble convincing Maddie to let go of him in order to be sat down and buckled in than he might have thought, though it might have been because Lizzie Thorne had caught her attention and let her share the seat. Of all the Muggleborn children on the bus, Lizzie was probably the most sociable. Draco appreciated the minor break, if only because he rather thought Maddie was unlikely to let him go once they arrived and were surrounded by strangers again. 

“Sure you’re ready for this madness?” he asked Neville playfully as he took the seat next to him.

“Piece of cake,” Neville said, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt. He was after all an Auror, and faced much more intimidating things on a daily basis than a troop of pre-schoolers. At the same time the sense of responsibility was heavy, even as part of a group of caretakers. He wondered how Draco managed it all the time. “How hard could it be, right?” 

Draco chuckled a little at that as Jorge started the engine and pulled out of the driveway of the house. “This is a decently behaved group. The ones who are a little older can be obnoxiously obstinate.” He dropped his hand to the seat between them, the backs of his knuckles grazing over Neville’s, the small, casual touch making him smile again. “The ‘no running’ piece will probably be the hardest for this lot to deal with.”

“So we keep them in the water,” Neville said, grinning a little at that small touch. “Problem solved.” 

Laughing again at that suggestion, Draco said, “That sounds like an excellent plan.” How well it would work in reality, he had no idea, but he was certainly willing to try. A shriek from the back of the bus had Draco’s head whipping around, and he was relieved when it turned out to be the precursor to laughter instead of tears. Returning his attention to Neville, Draco asked, “Do you have any plans for after this?”

“Not especially,” Neville replied, glancing as casually as he dared over to where Draco’s mother and aunt were endeavouring to get Teddy to sit still as the bus rumbled onto the road. “Other than finding something to eat, because something tells me I’m going to work up an appetite. You?” 

“I was gonna ask you out to dinner,” Draco admitted with a shrug and a hint of a flush to the tips of his ears. Neville grinned at that. Draco followed Neville’s gaze, frowning slightly again as he was reminded of their unexpected company on this trip. “That child hates me,” he commented as Teddy vocalized something of great importance to his captive audience.

“He’s two,” Neville pointed out, raising an amused eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure two year olds aren’t capable of hate.” He sat back, settling into the way the seat vibrated under him as it drove. “Have you spent much time with him?” 

“He and Aunt Andi come to dinner about every other week.” Draco shrugged again. “Maybe not hate. But he doesn’t seem to appreciate it when I try to interact with him. So there’s that.”

“He’s a baby, Dray,” Neville said, with half amusement and half sympathy. “I’m sure he’ll come around to you. And hey, if he doesn’t I’ll teach you the seed trick. I’m pretty sure that’s the only reason he even knows who I am.” 

Draco beamed at Neville’s use of that nickname. He looked over at the other man curiously for a moment while he parsed that statement, and then nodded slightly once he figured out what it probably meant. “Maybe I should try the flying origami, Maddie seemed to enjoy that.”

“There you go.” He smiled. “You’re so great with all these kids. I’ll bet you could be just as good with Teddy; maybe he’s just a bit young yet.” 

Flushing again at that compliment, Draco ducked his head slightly. “Probably,” he agreed. “I did not do very well with the actual babies.” There were no longer newborns at the foundation, obviously, but any one under about four was beyond his ability to communicate effectively with. 

Neville chuckled. “Yeah, I find that hard to imagine. Mind you, it was hard to picture you working with kids at all, you know; you’re full of surprises that way.” 

Draco shrugged lightly, unsure of exactly what to say to that. “They make it easy, most of the time,” he demurred, brushing his knuckles over the back of Neville’s hand again, stealing the small touch while he still had a chance to do so. 

Neville smiled and gave Draco a look out of the corner of his eye. “Behave,” he murmured. “You can last until dinner. Where are we going?”

“That depends. Do you prefer Italian or Indian?” Draco asked, reluctantly pulling his hand away and placing it in his own lap instead. 

“Italian, I think,” Neville grinned. “I can make a real mess of a bowl of spaghetti.”

“Okay,” Draco agreed easily with a grin of his own. “Also, I have discovered a thing called takeaway. You can get restaurants to ‘plate’ your food in to-go containers and just pick it up to eat in the comfort of home.”

“You don’t say,” Neville grinned. He knew what takeaway was, of course, on long days he and his fellow aurors practically lived in Chinese food, but Draco’s naive enthusiasm was adorably infectious. 

It didn’t take very long to get to the pool, which, being a warm summer day, was lively with families. Hermione took charge as they all trooped off the bus. “Changing rooms,” she announced and Neville helped Jorge unload the bags. “Boys, go with Draco and Neville. Everyone else with me. Stay together, don’t go wandering off.” She looked at Draco. “Remember what I told you about lockers?” 

“Get as few as possible,” Draco quoted, grabbing his own bag from the back corner of the bus where he’d stowed it and throwing it over his shoulder. “Mika, Johnny, Andrew, Leo,” he called out, watching as the four boys shuffled over to line up in front of him. “Everyone’s got your stuff?” They nodded enthusiastically, and he herded them towards the entrance.

Sometimes it was hard to turn the Auror off. As they came into the foyer, Neville found himself taking note of all the exits, and scanning the faces in the crowd for anything that seemed out of place. His wand was tucked securely under his shirt where he could reach it easily, but he was aware that he would have to leave it behind when they actually entered the pool. He told himself he was being paranoid, even if it was a paranoia born out of experience. 

For his part, Draco was more focused on the children, but his own experiences still had him glancing around for similar things - ways in and out, the people passing by. He hadn’t survived the Death Eaters by _not_ learning to observe his surroundings. 

They made their way to the changing rooms where fortunately the boys were all too eager to clamber out of their clothes, and did not need much prompting. It was steamy hot in the room, and it was a bit of a relief to stuff his own clothes into his bag, his wand gently tucked underneath them. 

“Ooh,” Mika exclaimed as Neville went to put the bag in one of the lockers Draco was attempting to stuff with all their things. “What happened to your _back_?” It took him a moment to realise what the boy meant, and had to resist the urge to shift his shoulder self-consciously. He barely noticed the starburst-shaped scar anymore.

Draco had frozen as well, not entirely certain which of them the question was directed to, and least until he looked and saw where Mika was staring. He sucked in a deep breath as a flash of memories assaulted him, glad when Neville’s words broke the moment. 

“Got bit by a dragon,” Neville said, which made all the boys’ eyes widen considerably. He chuckled. “Kidding,” he said, and ruffled Mika’s hair when he looked like he might be about to ask more questions. “None of your business, nosy.” 

“You all ready to get in the water?” Draco asked as he finally managed to shut the locker door. Another energetic cheer was the response he received, and they moved as a group towards the door that would open up to the actual pool. 

As they stepped out onto the deck, Draco felt a small tapping touch at his wrist, and glanced down to see Leo frowning just slightly. He stopped, crouching down so the boy would know he had Draco’s fully attention. 

“Dragons are real?” Leo whispered into Draco’s ear, which was a pretty standard mode of communication for the very shy Muggleborn. 

“Yes,” Draco answered with a small nod. “I’ll find you a book that will tell you all about them,” he offered, which got him a grin in return, and Leo nodded eagerly in return before turning to go join his friends. They had come out earlier than the girls, which wasn’t surprising considering the speed with which all four boys had undressed. 

“Don’t jump,” Neville said quickly, as the boys got suspiciously close to the edge at the deep end. “Use the stairs.” 

He caught Draco’s eye as they all grudgingly turned and padded barefoot across the tiles towards the shallow end. “Was that the wrong answer?” he asked, his voice covered by the echoing yells of children around them. 

“Not at all,” Draco replied immediately. “They don’t always have great respect for other people’s privacy, so any reminder that they aren’t entitled to know everything about someone is a good thing.” He offered Neville a small smile as he spoke, before looking back at the kids. 

“Careful getting in,” Draco instructed as Johnny and Andrew started climbing down the stairs into the water. 

“Okay _okay_ ,” Johnny replied, rolling his eyes with all the confidence of a child who had done this before and wasn’t shy about it. He splashed easily into the water, waving on the others. “Come on, it’s warm!” 

Neville gave Draco an amused look. It occurred to him that this was probably a novel experience for both of them, as well; his Gran had certainly never taken him anywhere like this. He had learned to swim out of necessity after his Great Uncle had almost drowned him; probably not the average wizarding child’s experience. The boys shrieked as they splashed into the water, some more carefully than others.

One day, maybe these children wouldn’t have Draco feeling seven seconds away from an anxiety attack at every given moment. Today wasn’t that day though, and he sighed slightly at Johnny’s attitude. “I have to admit, I’m glad Hermione made me do a trial run with her last week,” Draco admitted as they watched the boys in the water. There was a pond on the grounds of Malfoy Manor that had seen Draco’s practice runs for the ocean beaches that were his only other experiences with bodies of water. 

“Draco!” he heard from behind him, turning around to see Lizzie making her way towards them, a set of bright orange flotation devices around her upper arms. “Maddie’s crying again,” she informed him as she walked past him towards the stairs to get into the water. 

“You go,” Neville said, just as one of the boys decided to swamp his legs with a wave swept up in his hands. “Ooh, you lot are asking for it,” he warned, grinning. “Go on,” he added to Draco, moving towards the stairs himself. “I’ve got this under control.” He hoped. 

That Neville both told him to go _and_ moved in to be closer to the kids was all in all reassuring enough that Draco felt okay about making his way towards where Lizzie had emerged from. He was two-thirds of the way there when Hermione stepped out, Madison almost-screaming in her arms. Taking the squirming child, who clung to his shoulder, Draco made the soft, nonsensical soothing sounds that Maddie liked best, one hand rubbing over her back as she declined from full-on tears to hiccuped little sobs instead. 

Seeing that Draco clearly had enough to be going on with, Neville did his best to take charge of the remaining children. No sooner was he actually in the water and adjusted to the temperature, that the majority of the boys lost their shyness and decided to treat him as a piece of climbing equipment. A couple of the girls decided to join in too, once they saw how much fun it was when he ducked his shoulders under, let them cling onto him and then burst out of the water with a roar, shaking them off so that they fell off like plums falling from a tree, shrieking with laughter. Hermione tried to convince them to engage in an impromptu swimming lesson, but they largely ignored her in favour of the game.

Maddie calmed down enough to let Draco stand waist deep in the water, her toes occasionally kicking against the surface, as they watched Neville and the other children. Draco tried to keep his expressions as neutral as possible, but it was difficult not to grin like a madman at how obviously the kids were enjoying themselves with him. They did get splashed a few times, and Lizzie came over more than that to check on the smaller girl, but for the most part, they wound up being more of observers than participants in all the action. 

Once Neville’s arms were no longer capable of dangling two small humans from each, he caved to Hermione’s insistence on practicing practical skills. The kids floated on their backs with the adults supporting them, and then with some coaxing started practicing actual strokes; some going up and down like fish, others requiring floaties and a bit of help. Neville didn’t think he would have been much help at all if he wasn’t tall enough that his feet could touch the floor in the deeper water. They kept this up for about twenty minutes, when enthusiasm for the exercise started to wane, and the children were given permission to play as they liked. 

Neville took the opportunity to swim back to where Draco was standing with Madison. “She okay?” he murmured, standing up in the water and shaking out his hair. 

Draco had managed to get Madison to try floating with the rest of the kids, but that was about the extent of the experience she wanted to have with the water for the time being. It took him a moment to notice Neville coming their way, amongst the chaos of the kids resorting to the splashing games they’d been playing earlier as well. He couldn’t quite help the way he stared as Neville stood, and it took him half a second too long to respond.

“We’re doing alright,” he said with a small nod. “Can I just mention that there’s something a little unfair about this whole situation?”

“Because you don’t get to play?” Neville grinned sympathetically. “I’d offer to swap, but I don’t think we’d get far.” He looked over Draco’s shoulder to where his mother and aunt were sitting with Teddy in the infants pool. It was uncommonly strange to see them so unguarded, and in swimming things. He had never imagined he might see so much of Mrs. Malfoy, which was a thought he immediately tried to erase from his mind. “You know, it looks like they just genuinely wanted to come,” he observed, raising an eyebrow. “And here you were thinking it was a trick.”

His ears flushed a little at that, and Draco shrugged. “I think a lot of things get done with an ulterior or additional motive to what’s obvious,” he conceded, “and this was one of them.” He got distracted by Madison squirming in his arms, and looked down to see her leaning towards Neville. “What, oh, _now_ you’re ready to be social?” Draco asked, watching her reach for the other man.

Neville was surprised, but pleased. “Hi,” he said to the child as she reached out towards him. “How’re you feeling, a bit calmer now?” He looked up at Draco, a little unsure. “I could take her,” he offered. “If you want…” 

“She is all yours,” Draco agreed, holding out Maddie so it was easier for Neville to hold her. He grinned once she was settled in Neville’s arms, staring at him with wide eyes. And he probably would have continued watching the two of them for a lot longer than a moment if Hermione’s voice calling his name from behind him hadn’t caught his attention.

“Ten more minutes, and then we’re taking a break,” she informed him across the water as he turned around to make sure there was nothing else that needed his immediate attention. Draco nodded, and when he turned back around, the sight of Neville holding Maddie, both of them smiling at him.

“What d’you reckon?” Neville said to Maddie, hitching her up on his slippery hip. “Shall we make Draco go and play with the others? It’s about time he got his hair wet, don’t you think?” 

She giggled and nodded. “Go play,” she ordered Draco, reddened eyes blinking. 

“Oh, so now you’re teaming up on me,” Draco asked teasingly, grinning widely as he did so. “I see.” In all honesty though, he was very glad to see Maddie expanding her range of people she was comfortable with, and if she felt good enough with Neville for Draco to go elsewhere, he certainly wasn’t about to argue. 

Interjecting himself into the mini-race that Johnny was organizing, Draco got pulled under just a few minutes in, his hair finally getting wet for the first time beyond the occasional since they’d arrived.

Neville grinned to see Draco get dragged under, and turned his attention back to his unexpected small charge. “So,” he said. “You don’t want to play with the others?” 

She shook her head stubbornly and held onto him even more tightly. “Can’t swim,” she murmured. 

“Well, that’s what we’re doing here, you know, so that you can learn. But if you don’t want to, that’s okay.” He motioned with his head towards Mrs Malfoy and her sister. “What if we went and sat with Draco’s mum in the little pool?” 

She made a face, her nose wrinkled up like she’d smelled something bad. “That’s for babies.” 

He laughed. “Well, you aren’t enjoying this much, and there isn’t anything in-between. How about we sit on the stairs, then?” 

That seemed to be acceptable, so he made his way over to the wide steps where they could sit waist-deep with their legs in the water, watching the others play. After a minute Madison actually released her death grip enough that she could sit by herself and kick her legs up and down, though she stayed very close to Neville’s side. 

He allowed himself to relax, so much so that when a too-familiar voice spoke behind him, and a sheet of long black hair caught the corner of his eye, he jumped and spasmed as his arm tried to reach for a wand that wasn’t there. “Sorry,” Andromeda said, coming to sit beside them on the step. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” 

“No, I…” Neville breathed, trying to calm his racing heart. _My fault_ , he almost said, but it wasn’t, so he forced back the apology he did not strictly owe. 

Andromeda looked across the pool to where her nephew was playing. “I didn’t think she would let him go,” she said, in a tone not quite loud enough for the little girl to hear. “They seem to be quite close.” 

“They have a soft spot for each other, I think,” Neville replied, not really sure how he was supposed to answer. A shudder went up his spine at her nearness; he knew it wasn’t fair, that she was nothing like her sister, either of her sisters. But he had been having nightmares about Bellatrix Lestrange his whole life, and it was difficult to separate appearance and personality in his mind. “She feels safer with him.” 

“So I can see.” She turned her head to regard him for a moment, the ends of her long hair dangling wet around her waist, almost brushing the water. “An unusual friendship, some might say.” 

Neville felt his guard come up. “Some _have_ said,” he agreed. “We try not to listen too hard to what people say.” 

“Admirable.” Mrs Tonks nodded and then, after a moment, unexpectedly added: “My nephew has made some mistakes, undoubtedly, but he has also suffered through a great deal. More I think, than many people realise.”

Neville frowned, and checked to make sure Maddie couldn’t hear, or at least wasn’t listening. He wondered what exactly Andromeda was getting at. “He doesn’t like to talk about it,” he said finally, with absolute truthfulness. 

The kids kept most of Draco’s attention on them, making him the center of some new game that he admittedly didn’t fully understand, but since all he seemed to need to do was try and grab any of them who came too close, he wasn’t particularly worried about it. It was only when he went looking for Neville and Madison out of the corner of his eye that he realized they had moved, after a brief moment of panic when they weren’t where he had left them. The feeling returned full force when he saw who was sitting with them. Aunt Andi was a relatively new figure in his life - Draco had heard bits and pieces of stories of her when he was growing up, but mostly in quiet whispers, and one memorable shouting match his mother had had with Aunt Bella during that awful year when the Manor had become Death Eater central. As such, he had no earthly idea what she could possibly be saying to Neville, and he was intensely worried about what it might be. 

“I’m pleased that he has a friend,” Andromeda said, smiling as she watched the children play. “My sister does worry that his social circle has been somewhat constrained lately. From what I’ve heard, I expect you’ll be a good influence on him.” 

Neville hesitated. “Hermione’s probably a better influence,” he said. “He and I have too much in common, really.” 

“Oh?” she raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Well…” he stumbled a little over his words. “We’re both Pureblood, both from old families. Old _rich_ families,” he amended. “There’s not much I could show him that he doesn’t already know. If anything, he’s teaching _me_ things,” he added, with a hint of daring. “We’re just friends, it’s not like I’m mentoring him in how to be a good person. He’s figured that out for himself already, I assure you.” 

“Well.” She gave him a look that seemed to go right through him; he suppressed a shudder. “It’s nice to see him smile, anyway. With a friend outside of a… working relationship.” 

Andrew grabbing onto one of his wrists drew Draco back to the present moment, and he tried to refocus. It was harder than he expected, his gaze continuously going back to where Neville was. He was immensely grateful when Hermione called for a break, much to the displeasure of the kids, if their disappointed groans were anything to go by. Helping her herd them all out of the water took most of his attention, and it took a long few minutes before he was able to start moving towards the stairs to get out of the water himself. 

Madison saw Draco coming and waved, interrupting the adults’ conversation for which Neville was profoundly grateful. Not that it was at all impolite, just weird and uncomfortable. “Reckon you can meet him halfway?” he coaxed Madison with a smile. “Go on, it’s not deep, give it a try.” 

She hesitated a moment before splashing carefully down the steps and paddling a bit haphazardly a few strokes into Draco’s arms. 

Scooping Maddie up with a large grin, Draco enthused, “That was great!” in the hopes of getting a smile out of her in return. She hid the expression in his shoulder, but not before he caught sight of it. “Did you have a good time with Neville?” he asked, his eyes sliding over to the man in question as he felt Madison nod in response. “Excellent,” he commented, stepping closer to Neville and Aunt Andi, still rather concerned. 

“Everything alright?” Draco asked, intentionally vague as his gaze migrated back and forth between the two of them. 

“Perfectly,” Andromeda said, easily, rising gracefully and stepping out of the water. “I had better go and rescue your mother from Teddy.” 

Neville found himself almost unable to meet Draco’s eyes; he hadn’t started the conversation behind Draco’s back, but he had participated, and it made him feel oddly guilty. “Having fun?” he managed. 

Casting another suspicious look at his aunt’s back as she walked away, Draco replied, “Yeah. Are you okay?” He was far more concerned with Neville’s mental state than much else at the moment. He reached out to offer the other man the hand that wasn’t currently holding Madison to help him stand up, frowning slightly as his worries continued bubbling around in his brain. 

“Honestly?” Neville swallowed. “She weirds me out a little bit. It’s not her fault, or anything.” He took Draco’s hand and let him draw him up, though he was perfectly capable of standing on his own. “I’m fine.” 

Madison giggled into Draco’s shoulder. “And you’re sworn to secrecy, Miss,” Neville added, though he didn’t have much fear that the shy child would repeat his words to a stranger, even if she was Draco’s aunt. 

Holding onto Neville’s hand for a moment longer than was strictly necessary, Draco continued frowning as he considered that statement, until some pieces rearranged themselves in his brain, and he remembered the physical similarities between his aunts, and could extrapolate a guess from there. “Ah. Sure you’re alright?” he asked one more time as they made their way over to where Hermione and the kids had claimed a few tables for the group. 

“I said, I’m fine,” Neville repeated, and it came out a little harsher than he had meant to. “Can we drop it, please?” he added, softer, and went to help Hermione heap towels on the children, making them laugh by covering their heads entirely. 

Draco recoiled just a bit at Neville’s tone, and he regretted having repeated the question, especially since he didn’t get a chance to apologize before the other man walked away. Keeping half an eye on his boyfriend out of the corner of his eye, Draco moved to set Maddie down, before going to help Hermione hand out juice boxes and crackers. 

The rest of the outing seemed to go fairly smoothly. Draco and Neville took turns with Maddie while the other helped Hermione organise some more structured play and then another freeforall which involved the kids standing in Neville’s hands while he came up under them and popped them into the air like a cork. By the end of it he was pretty sure he’d made a couple of firm friends, which was a nice feeling. He avoided Narcissa and her sister, not wanting to stumble headfirst into another awkward conversation. By the time they loaded the children back onto the bus, many of them were already yawning and drooping in their seats. Draco and Neville sat together again, with a row of seats between them and the others; there was little need for supervision when half the kids were snoring against the windows. 

They sat in casual silence for a minute or two as the bus rumbled back onto the road. Then Neville, who had been privately regretting his outburst for the last hour, shifted his hand subtly onto Draco’s leg. “Sorry I snapped at you,” he said, low.

Even with as distracted as he’d been with the kids, Draco had found the spare brain power to be worrying about Neville and his reaction earlier, and how he was going to make up for it. That the other man had chosen to sit with him on the way back was mildly reassuring, and Draco had just revelled in the heat of Neville’s body next to his own for a few minutes.

The touch surprised him slightly, and the words even more so, and Draco frowned slightly as he moved to cover his boyfriend’s fingers with his own softly. “No, it’s fine,” he murmured quietly. “Sorry I pushed the subject.”

“I’ll get used to it,” Neville promised. “It’s just unsettling. She looks so much like… well, your other aunt. It’s like a weird nightmare.” He swallowed, determined to move past the subject. “She said it was nice to know you had a friend you didn’t work with,” he said, with a wry sort of smile.

Draco chuckled quietly at that, deciding the best thing was probably to table the other discussion for later. “That assumes Hermione isn’t going to try and rope you into more of these things,” he commented, smiling back at the expression on Neville’s face. 

“I wouldn’t mind,” Neville said, smile widening. “It was fun. It’s hardly work when all you have to do is play.” He ran his free hand through his still-damp hair. “Seems like ages since I _played_ , y’know? I forgot what it was like.” 

“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” Draco replied, still grinning. “And I know exactly what you mean. It’s a refreshing change of pace.” He was staring again, but it was hard not to, and a quick glance around showed him that no one was paying them any mind anyway. “I think she wants to do a museum trip or something next. So it might not be quite as much fun.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Neville mused, settling back into his seat. “Might learn something. Learning is fun.” He yawned and grinned. “Could practice my latin.” 

Draco wasn’t sure where the rest of the ride went, but soon enough, they were pulling up in front of the house and trying to get the kids off the bus. The majority were ready to eat after their naps, but a few - like Madison - were apparently too exhausted to even wake up. “I’ll just put her to bed and be right back,” Draco told Neville as they stepped inside. “Shouldn’t take more than a few minutes.”

“No problem,” Neville said. He would have helped, but Hermione and Luisa seemed to have the rest in hand, so he helped Jorge unload the bus instead. He thought he caught the other young man giving him an odd sort of look, but he wasn’t entirely sure he hadn’t imagined it. “Neff!” Teddy exclaimed as he came back around the side of the bus; it seemed the Black sisters were waiting for Draco, as well, and the two-year-old had already recovered from his short nap. 

“Hullo Ted,” Neville said, waving again. “Have a good time?”

He laughed and clapped, and Neville smiled despite the women regarding him with interest. “Want to see the trick again? Let me see what I’ve got…” he dug in his pockets until he came up with a seed - or possibly a small pebble, which would be embarrassing. He put it in Teddy’s hand and closed his fingers over it before drawing his wand and tapping lightly. When the boy opened his hand there was a large yellow flower growing between his fingers. 

“Oh, very good,” Andromeda said. “I’ve always had a bit of a knack for Herbology myself. I’ve never seen anything grow so fast from a seed. How interesting.” 

Neville shrugged. “Oh, it doesn’t last,” he admitted. “Nothing can use that much energy at once and live very long. I wouldn't do it for anything I actually wanted to grow. Just a parlour trick, really. Impresses small children, that’s about it.” 

It did only take Draco a couple of minutes to put Madison to bed - she was apparently so worn out that even the walk up the stairs didn’t wake her the way it did when she fell asleep on him when he was reading to her in one of the sitting rooms on the main floor. He tucked the covers around her small shoulders before stepping out of the room with a small sigh of relief. Managing to avoid getting cornered by Hermione, Draco ducked back outside, fully intending to grab Neville and steal him away for dinner while no one was paying attention.  
  
That wasn’t meant to be apparently, and he stopped up short as he took in the very odd - and slightly worrisome - tableau of Neville with Teddy in front of Draco’s aunt and mother. He walked the rest of the way a little faster, stepping in range just in time to hear his mother comment, “Parlour trick or not, it’s absolutely endearing.”   
  
“You hate parlour tricks,” Draco interjected, coming up to stand at Neville’s side with something that was almost a glare in his mother’s direction. Neville looked around at him, surprised. 

“Don’t be rude, Draco, it’s unbecoming,” Narcissa said dismissively, to which Draco rolled his eyes without trying to hide the expression at all. “We’ll be on our way, you boys enjoy the rest of your evening,” she continued, and Draco continued to watch suspiciously as the three of them started to make their way up towards the house.  
  
“Sorry,” he murmured to Neville once they were out of earshot, turning to face the other man more fully. 

“They were just being polite,” Neville pointed out, gently chiding. “I’ll take what I can get - you should too. We can worry about people being genuine later.” He smiled. “Not that I haven’t had enough of other people for one day. Shall we go?”

Draco felt a little chastised at that, especially since Neville had a point. He sighed lightly, and agreed softly, “Yeah, you’re right.” Neville’s smile brought a small one to his own face as well, and he nodded in response to the question. “Yes, please,” he said, offering one hand to the other man. 

-

One satisfyingly heavy dinner later, they were settled into their by-now familiar places on the sofa in Draco’s apartment, Neville leaning against the cushions, Draco’s head on his chest. “What do you think makes her so shy?” he asked, after a long moment of comfortable silence. “Madison, I mean?” 

Draco had been listening to Neville’s heartbeat, halfway lulled to sleep from the sound and the warmth of the man’s body against his own. “Mm, I’m not sure,” he answered, pausing to let out a yawn. “She’s always been like that, as long as I’ve known her. Hermione thinks she might have been neglected, though I don’t know what her evidence is to support the theory.”

“Poor little thing,” Neville sighed. “And she’s so sweet, too. There’s no one who could take her in? No other family?” 

“Not that I've been able to find. For her, or any of the others,” Draco answered. “Some of the older ones have cousins, or older siblings, but they don’t have the means to care for them.”

“That’s sad.” Neville turned his head into Draco’s hair. “Everyone should have a family that loves them.”

Draco sighed lightly as he agreed, “Yeah.” He swallowed thickly and then admitted, “I don’t know what more to do for them.”

“You’re already doing a lot,” Neville pointed out. “More than most people are - more than anyone would have expected you to do. She trusts you, that’s something.”

“It doesn’t feel like enough,” Draco said quietly. It stemmed from the part of him that was seeking atonement, he knew, the same way he knew he probably wouldn’t ever actually achieve it. “I know it’s better than nothing, I just… wish I could do more.”

“Well, you’re doing more and more all the time,” Neville said soothingly, rubbing his thumb gently against Draco’s side under his shirt. “Like today, giving them a day of fun. Don’t be so hard on yourself. You can hardly adopt them all.” 

Draco wondered if Neville was aware of exactly how many times Draco had thought of trying to do exactly that, no matter that he was well aware that it wasn’t feasible. “I know,” he murmured, distracted slightly from their conversation by the warmth of Neville’s hand on his skin. “I am glad they enjoyed it.” He opened his eyes and tilted his head up just enough so he could see Neville’s face. “Thank you for coming,” Draco added softly, not wanting to elaborate and bring up any of the less than pleasant parts of the day. 

“I had a good time, I told you,” Neville assured him again. “And it’s… well, it’s nice being able to spend time with you, y’know, around other people. Even if it is hard not to kiss you when they’re watching.”

Chuckling, Draco teased back, “You’re telling me. I’m almost glad I had to be on the other end, because you were _very_ distracting. I’m lucky Madison doesn’t require as much conversational skills, mine were not up to par.”

“True,” Neville chuckled, rather abashed. “Having you wet and half naked was an additional level of difficulty. I suppose I just kept in mind that I could have you wet and fully naked any other time.”

Draco smirked, turning and twisting his upper body so that his chest was pressing into Neville’s. “Oh, really? Does that mean I can tempt you into taking a shower with me?”

“Maybe,” Neville grinned, looking at him. “In a minute. I’m pretty comfortable right now.” He curled his fingers into Draco’s shirt and pulled him down into a kiss. “And I sort of like that smell,” he muttered. “The pool water smell. It’s weird but nice.” 

As always, Neville’s grin sent a spark of happiness down Draco’s spine, especially when he was responsible for it. He beamed in return, leaning into that kiss easily. “It’s better than pond water,” he agreed, rearranging just enough to be able to tuck his hand against the curve of Neville’s ribs. 

Neville laughed. “When have _you_ ever smelled like pond water?” he asked, teasing.

“I was probably… six or seven? The pond was my first swimming lesson, and I _hated_ it. It was gross and dirty and smelled terrible and I wanted nothing to do with it,” Draco answered with a hint of a smirk and a shrug. “I preferred the ocean, once I got that introduction.”

“I’m not surprised, ponds are for growing stuff in, not swimming,” Neville chuckled. “Although I don’t know if I’d ever swim in the ocean either. Big things live in there.” 

“Lucky for us, we can just stick to the pool,” Draco retorted, still grinning. He leaned in to steal another quick kiss, and then asked, not quite shyly, “Can you stay tonight?”

“I can,” Neville promised, adding: “But I have to be in the office early tomorrow, so you can’t keep me up.”

Draco arched one eyebrow lightly, a smirk forming at the corner of his lips as he asked teasingly, “I make no guarantees about not getting you up for at least a little while.”

Neville made a face. “That was _terrible_ ,” he groaned. “You’re terrible.” He snorted. 

“It was not my best,” Draco agreed with a chuckle. Smirking again, he added, “Should I prove exactly how ‘ _terrible_ ’ I can be?”


	11. Worrying

What had started as a routine patrol had turned out to be anything but. Taken by surprise and outnumbered, the small unit of Aurors had been forced back. They were stuck, once again, behind an illegal apparition ward, and they were all short of breath. Many of them were already bleeding, and one of the older men, Somerson, was almost unconscious. 

“We have to get him out of here,” Neville said, trying to hold the poor man upright. He had been knocked about a fair bit but otherwise felt okay; maybe it was the adrenaline. “I could carry him....” 

“You’ll be too slow,” Phillip insisted. “You’re sure to be hit.”

“So cover me,” Neville shot back. “How else are we getting out of–”

They all ducked with a half second warning as another curse shot through their hiding place, red light illuminating them all for a brief moment. Beside him Neville could see Ron’s white face looking up at the roof above them, which did not look at all sturdy. “We better not die out here,” the redhead muttered. “Hermione’ll never forgive me. I bet she’s already out of her mind; we should have been back hours ago.”

Neville nodded sympathetically, and did not say that he also had someone waiting for him, this time. He and Draco were meant to be having dinner – hell, dinner was probably over by now. What would Draco think? Would he be angry? Upset? Worried? It was hard to tell, sometimes. The former Slytherin he was currently seeing in secret had a tendency to conceal his emotions, especially when he thought Neville might be offended or upset. But that didn’t stop Neville from noticing.

No time to think about that now. 

“Backup should get here any moment now,” Phillip said, though he did not exactly sound confident. “They’ll be looking for us. Wellings will have sent them when we didn’t come back.”

“We’re miles away from where we started,” Ron groaned. Neville wondered if he was hurt worse than he was letting on. “ _And_ we were covering our tracks.” 

“No one could miss this fire show now it’s well and dark,” Phillip pointed out. “Just hope these idiots keep on lighting up the sky. The others will find us.”

Neville still thought they ought to make a run for it, rather than sit around waiting to be picked off, but he didn't say anything. Unlike Ron, he wasn’t one to question his orders. 

•••

Hermione _was_ worried, not least because Ginny had called her when Harry had been sent out on a rescue mission to find the missing Aurors. Now both of them were out there in who knew what danger, and Neville as well. Poor Ginny looked pale and sick, and wasn’t even making jokes, which was her usual way of dealing with the kind of anxiety that came part and parcel with having Aurors for a boyfriend, a brother, and a best friend. The two of them sat together in the area that had been set aside for families in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, holding hands. If it hadn’t been for Ginny being there, Hermione might even have risked going out herself, foolish as she knew the idea was. Neither of them suggested contacting Mrs. Weasley or Mrs. Longbottom, though as each hour passed Hermione couldn’t help feeling how unfair it was to leave them in the dark - even if it was kinder. If the boys didn’t return by sunrise the Department would inform them as a matter of course. 

_But they will,_ she told herself firmly. _They will be back by then._ They had to be.

 _No one will tell Draco,_ she thought guiltily, staring at a dirty spot on the wall opposite. She was still adjusting to the idea of Neville and Draco together, but she was sure Draco would not want to hear the news from a newspaper, or gossip. She would have to tell him. But how would she ever manage it, if she lost Ron? How would she manage anything, ever again? He could be a boorish, stubborn git sometimes, but he was _her_ stubborn git. She could not imagine losing him, or Harry. Not after everything they had already lived through. 

“What time is it?” Ginny asked, for maybe the fourth time in the last hour. 

“Gone midnight,” Hermione sighed, looking at her watch. 

“Six hours,” Ginny breathed. “What do we do?” 

•••

Draco glanced up at the clock above his fireplace once again, the pit in his stomach deepening even further as he realized it was now after midnight. The dinner he’d cooked had gone cold long ago, and he’d been angry and bitchy at first, thinking that Neville had forgotten about their date. But as more and more time had gone by, he’d thought that less and less likely, given that the only other time that had happened, the other man had shown up flustered and apologetic, and Draco hadn’t had it in him to pout terribly long in the face of that. 

So he’d been anxious for the last couple of hours, worried and concerned for Neville’s welfare - after all, it wasn’t as though anyone actually knew about them, aside from Hermione, so if Neville was laid out in a hospital bed at St. Mungo’s (or worse, which Draco didn’t even let himself consider), he’d never know. It was the repetition of that thought that forced him up off the couch he’d been curled up on since realizing Neville wasn’t coming. 

Draco threw on an outer robe over the jeans and cardigan he’d put on specifically for their date, checked himself in the mirror, and then Floo-ed to the main level of the Ministry. It was a reckless move, he knew, but he was too worried about Neville to be concerned with anything other than finding out what had happened to him, and the Ministry was the best place to start, even if it was mostly deserted at the moment. 

Making his way through the empty hallways, Draco stopped short when he saw Hermione and the youngest Weasley sitting side-by-side outside the main portion of the Department. “Well, this certainly doesn’t bode well,” he commented aloud as he stepped up next to them, the fingers of his right hand wrapped nervously around his left wrist. They looked up - Ginny looked surprised, Hermione less so. 

“Draco,” she said, looking up at him with tired eyes. “We don’t know much, I’m afraid.”

“They’re probably fine,” Ginny said, stubbornly. “Just got lost, I bet.” She peered up at Draco with curiosity despite her obvious distress. “How did you know to come?” she asked. “It’s the middle of the night.” 

Blinking once at the question, realizing exactly how suspicious this whole thing might seem, Draco went with the truth, if not the entirety of it. “Neville and I were supposed to have dinner,” he answered. “And even Neville isn’t that forgetful.”

“Oh.” Ginny’s shoulders sank a little. “Well, that’s… nice of you to come.” 

“Buck up,” Hermione said, patting her on the shoulder as she stood up. “Harry will find them. Do you want some coffee?”

Ginny shrugged. 

“Well, I’ll get some anyway,” Hermione said. “Draco, help me?” She led him over to the machine in the corner, which was supposed to dispense coffee but would occasionally decide to spout other liquids, from rum to tomato soup. “I’m sorry,” she said, once they were out of earshot. “I wasn’t sure if I should owl you…”

“I appreciate it,” Draco said honestly, because he was well aware that Hermione was the only one who would even think to update him about something like this. He took over trying to coax a drinkable liquid out of the machine, a sludgy brown mess shooting into the bottom of the first cup. “Do you know how long they’ve been missing?” It was probably at least four hours, given what time they were supposed to have had dinner, Draco thought. “Or anything?” he asked, a little more desperately. 

“They should have been back by six, but no one’s heard anything since they went out, and that was around midday,” Hermione said as she rubbed her face with her hands, ignoring a lock of frizzy hair that had come out of its tie. “The department sent a scout and then a whole team after them, including Harry, and now no one’s heard from any of _them_ either.” She swallowed. “It’s not knowing that’s the worst part. They could be anywhere.” 

Midday. Twelve hours. Draco felt his stomach drop again. There was no telling how long things had actually been wrong for, in that case. “Merlin’s balls,” he muttered. He pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment, sighing lightly. “What are the odds they’ll tell you something, if they find anything?” Draco was aware that he wasn’t going to be privy to any findings directly.

“Pretty low,” Hermione admitted. “Kingsley might, as a personal favour, but it’s not my department and I’m not next of kin. If Mrs. Weasley was here they might, but…” she sighed. “I just can’t, not yet. The poor woman’s been through enough.” 

The cup filled with something vaguely coffee-smelling, and Draco passed it over to Hermione before trying his luck a second time. “How do you deal with this on a regular basis?” he asked, feeling stretched thin already. 

“With difficulty,” she replied, solemnly, and then added, after a moment’s consideration. “You get used to it after a while I suppose. This constant heavy feeling in your stomach. I’ve been feeling that way about Ron since we were sixteen, so…” She sighed. “All I can do is hope this is just like every other time. That he’ll come through that door like he always does. And Harry and Neville too, of course.” A tear beaded in the corner of her eye; she wiped it swiftly away. 

Draco wasn’t sure he wanted to get accustomed to this feeling of helplessness and dread - but what was the alternative? It wasn’t as though he wouldn’t still be worried about Neville if they weren’t together, he’d learnt that in the months of their blooming friendship. “This is pretty awful,” he agreed, taking the cup of probably-coffee out from the machine’s dispenser. “Does this happen a lot?” he asked as they made their way back to where Ginny Weasley was sitting, trying not to tap his fingertips impatiently, since he knew it wouldn’t actually do any good.

“Not like this,” Hermione said, after a moment’s hesitation. “If they’re going on a mission, we don’t always know when they’ll come back, but that’s expected. They’ve never just… disappeared, without warning.” She took a deep breath. “Ginny might be right. They might have just gotten lost.” 

•••

“We are _lost_ ,” Ron muttered at Neville as they stumbled together in the dark, Somerson’s arms slung over their shoulders as they took most of his weight. 

“Less complaining, more running,” Harry admonished him from where he was bringing up the rear. The long-expected backup had finally arrived and managed to break the siege, but even together they were outnumbered. No one was entirely sure who their attackers were, but that was a problem for a time when they weren’t currently running for their lives. 

“Run _where?”_ his friend demanded, grunting. It made sense for him and Neville to help Somerson, as they were two of the tallest and Neville would have been the first to admit that he wasn’t the best fighter of the group, but Ron was not as broad as Neville was and was struggling a little with the weight of the older man around his shoulders. 

“Just keep going,” Neville growled. He knew they had to trust that those leading them knew where they were headed. They could all feel the pursuit creeping up behind them, like a spider crawling up the backs of their necks. He shifted to try and take more of the strain, but Somerson was getting weaker by the step. 

•••

Sitting around and waiting at the Ministry wasn’t any less nerve-wrecking than doing so at home, Draco quickly found. There was a weird sort of camaraderie in sitting with Hermione and Ginny, even if one of them wasn’t fully aware of how similar his circumstances were to theirs. The three didn’t talk much, though none of them could seem to stop glancing up at the clock on the wall on a regular basis. 

About twenty minutes after his arrival, Ginny seemed unable to sit still any longer, and started pacing the length of the room. Draco could understand that, the driving itch to do _something_ , even if it wasn’t productive. “How long until they kick us out of here to just go wait somewhere else instead?” he asked Hermione softly. 

Hermione shook her head, eyes flickering towards the hands on the clock yet again. 

“I can’t take this much longer,” Ginny muttered, fists clenched in her lap. “I bet _we_ could have found them by now.” 

“Don’t be silly,” Hermione said, more absent-minded than truly chastising. 

“Oh, don’t pretend you don’t have ways of keeping track of Ron,” Ginny said, hard-eyed. “We could–” 

They stopped, distracted suddenly by a commotion coming from nearby. Ginny stood up. 

“Something’s happening.” 

There were a few more bangs and crashes, to the point that Draco stood up as well, craning a little closer forward at the sound of a number of voices yelling on the other side of a pair of double-doors.

•••

“Go! Go! Go!” 

About four voices were shouting, all confused and coming from multiple directions. Neville did not even have his wand in his hand, so focused on getting poor Somerson to safety. The edge of the Apparition barrier had been established; ahead of them Aurors were Apparating with loud, ungraceful _cracks_ that were audible even over the rushing, screeching sound of curses that seemed to shoot constantly past his ears. 

Harry was still there, covering their backs, and knowing that was all that gave them the confidence to fight forward without looking around, without flinching. Ron had his wand in his right hand, throwing off an occasional curse; Neville only had his left hand available, and knew he was likely to do more damage if he tried to use it, so he didn’t bother. “There, there!” someone shouted, and in the confusion they tried for a moment to go in two different directions. Phillip came back, shouting words Neville couldn’t even hear, and took Ron’s place under Somerson’s arm as they rushed the invisible line. Neville breathed an internal sigh of relief; he didn’t know if he could Apparate Somerson on his own, as his Side-Along skills were still pretty poor at the best of times, and he didn’t want to Splinch one of his superiors. It was a purely metaphorical sigh, however, as there was no space in his lungs for extra breath. 

Finally it seemed like they were finally there; Phillip bellowed orders at Ron and Harry and the others to “go, go, go!” Harry looked around and reached for Ron’s sleeve. Neville happened to be looking directly into Ron’s widening, horror-filled eyes, and he saw reflected in them a flash of green light in the split second before they Disapparated.

•••

“That’s Ron,” Hermione gasped, recognising one of the shouting voices. Throwing all caution to the winds she burst through the doors, Ginny and Draco hurrying along closely behind her. The room around them was chaos, people shouting, Healers hauling away the wounded, memos flying around everywhere, but they all saw Ron easily, with his bright red hair, standing half-a-head taller than all the rest. 

“Hermione?” he breathed, and she threw herself at him, not noticing or caring whether there was anyone in the way - Ginny followed, just a quick hold of his arm to reassure herself that she was real. A cut on his cheek had already stopped bleeding; he seemed otherwise unhurt. 

Harry came jogging up to them, glasses slightly askew. The look on his face was hard enough that even Ginny stopped herself from trying to hug him. He spared Draco only a half-second’s look of suspicion, too occupied to question aloud what he was doing there. 

Hermione asked for him. “Neville?” she whispered, not even audible above the din, but they all understood. Harry looked back at her helplessly and gave a quick, uncertain shake of his head. 

Draco stopped breathing at that lack of answer. He was glad to be a little ways back from the crowd, especially when he felt his hands start shaking very slightly. There was a lot of chaos, people moving rapidly, shoving against one another as they shouted - Draco felt almost detached from it though, seeing as the only thing he cared about - any insight into Neville and his location and continued wellbeing - wasn’t forthcoming. 

Forcing himself to take a deep breath, he winced at the scent of charred flesh and blood - a combination that he was unfortunately familiar with, unlikely to forget within the timespan of his life. He glanced in the direction it was coming from, but all he could see was a large group of Aurors and Healers in a circle around what he assumed was a victim - but who at least wasn’t Neville, the selfish back part of his brain whispered.

“We have to go back,” Ron grunted, looking right at Harry. 

“They won’t let us,” Harry said. “And you’re not in any shape - you’re shaking. Hermione, make him sit down. Better yet, get him out of here.” 

“I’m not injured, and I’m not just leaving him back there!” Ron hissed, taking a stumbling step forward. 

One of Draco’s eyebrows arched lightly at that exchange - he didn’t think he’d ever seen Weasley and Potter disagree on something. He also never thought he’d _agree_ with Potter on anything, but he did have a point, Weasley was looking rather unstable. His opinion on the matter wouldn’t be welcome though, he was aware of that. 

“I want to go back as much as you do, but they’ll never let us,” Harry said, gripping Ron by the shoulder when he tried to pull away. “Phillip is with him; they’ll make it.”

“You don’t _know-”_ Ron started, but stopped when he saw Draco for the first time in the corner of his eye; he actually did a double-take. “The hell is he doing here?” he demanded aloud of anyone who would listen. 

Draco fixed Weasley with a look, relatively certain that the redhead wouldn’t listen to him even if he did deign to answer the question. Which was illogical and nonsensical, but that seemed to be the matter of course when dealing with these two former Gryffindors. 

Still, the least he could do was try. “I was...” he started to say, only to be cut off by Potter interjecting with a glare, “You really _shouldn’t_ be here.”

Bristling just a little at that, Draco inhaled through his nose and exhaled slowly. “While I understand your aversion to Neville’s friendship with me, that does not negate its existence,” he tried, as calmly as possible. He still didn’t particularly care what they thought - but he wasn’t about to let them run him off, particularly not before he got to at least find out what Neville’s status was. 

“Ron, don’t,” Hermione warned, when the redhead opened his mouth to argue further. “Not now.”

“He could be a spy,” Ron insisted, glaring at Draco while holding his own side as though it pained him. “I don’t believe for one second he really cares what happens to Neville–” 

“Your disbelief doesn’t make it any less true,” Draco spat back, his mouth running before his brain caught up. He bit his tongue before anything more could escape him unbidden. No matter how urgent it was that he know what happened to Neville, he didn’t want to inadvertently out their relationship to the rest of this group, especially in such an already tense setting. 

“You -” Ron started, glowering, but he was interrupted by another commotion, another _crack_ from the far side of the room that was being kept clear for Apparitions, and more Healers rushing towards the spot. Harry took a half-step forward before stopping himself, as a limp man was levitated past them towards the doors. Behind them came Phillip, long dark hair come loose from its tight ponytail, and behind him was Neville, dark-eyed and panting, but apparently no worse for wear. 

“Neville!” Ginny exclaimed, and ran to him, squeezing him around the waist as he tried to catch his breath, and he put her arms comfortingly around her while he stared over her shoulder to where Draco was standing. 

“Nev,” Draco breathed out in a sigh of relief at the same time Ginny did, and after the fact, he was glad that her voice had covered his. He was doing terribly at keeping the true nature of their relationship concealed, and for now, his only saving grace was going to be that everyone was too distracted to think about or examine it too closely. All of that paled in comparison to the fact that Neville was here, and apparently unharmed. Draco couldn’t stop staring in return, his hands held close to his sides so that he didn’t follow Ginny’s example and cross the room to wrap his arms around the other man. 

“Bloody hell, mate,” Ron exclaimed, his hostile attitude forgotten entirely in the face of his relief. “Thought you were a gonner, for a minute there.” 

“So did I,” Neville replied, still staring openly at Draco; he had to force his gaze away. Draco himself couldn’t quite bring himself to follow suit, his eyes tracking his boyfriend across the room rather unsubtly. “Fortunately, whoever tried it didn’t have great aim.” He rubbed his arm where the Killing Curse had only _just_ brushed past him, and swallowed. 

“There’s a couple that weren’t so lucky,” Phillip said, coming up behind him, face covered in dirt where he’d hit the ground as the three of them dove out of the path of the curse. “But we won’t know the real damage until the morning. Weasley, you need a Healer?” 

Ron shook his head and winced, his hand still on his side. 

“I’ll take him,” Hermione promised, in a voice that brooked no further argument. 

“Good.” Phillip nodded. “Go home, the rest of you, go on. Debrief tomorrow morning - or today morning, I suppose - at ten. Get yourselves seen to.” He patted Neville on the shoulder, lingering a moment in silent, private thanks, and hurried away. 

As Harry and Ron turned back to the girls, allowing themselves to be fussed over, Neville stepped hesitantly in front of Draco. “I… you came,” he said, a little hoarse and flat, as though not quite able to believe it. 

Nodding absentmindedly in response to that question, Draco managed to not sound quite as frantic as he felt as he asked, “Are you okay?”

His hands were clenched by his side to stop him from reaching out and verifying that for himself - he wanted to check and make sure Neville was whole and unharmed and _here_ , even if he knew this wasn’t the place or time for that. None of that could stop him from staring, with wide, almost wild eyes. 

Neville glanced down at himself as though he wasn’t quite sure, and looked up again, a faint, shaky smile on his face. “I think so,” he said, low. 

“Let’s go,” Hermione said, one arm around Ron’s waist. “Please?” 

Harry turned back to look at Neville. “You sure you’re okay? You don’t need a Healer?” 

Neville shook his head. “No, I’m fine. You guys go. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

Once they were through the door, Neville hesitated only a moment longer before stepping into Draco’s space and hugging him tightly. He didn’t care what Phillip and the others saw; let them talk. “Sorry I missed dinner,” he said, low. 

Draco returned Neville’s embrace just as tightly, his fingers curling into the back of the other man’s robes and holding on as if he’d disappear again if he let go. Shaking his head minutely, Draco murmured, “It’s fine, if you’re hungry it can be reheated.” 

Neville let out a soft, trembling laugh at that. Draco felt a little silly, babbling inanely about food, but it was so much better than the anxious worrying he’d been doing a few minutes ago that it was almost as much of a relief as having Neville in his arms again. Even if he was still a little shaky, but he was getting less so with every passing moment, especially since each inhale brought with it the reassuring scent of Neville himself. “Is it… can I take you home?” Draco asked softly, keeping the words between them since they were for Neville’s ears alone. 

Neville nodded into his shoulder. “Please,” he said, low. 

Taking Neville at his word, Draco unclenched the fingers of one hand to reach into his robes for his wand, the other remaining locked around him. It only took him a moment to get situated, and then he was Apparating them directly into his living room. 

Draco dropped his wand to the floor - a hitherto unheard of treatment - and used his now free hand to grab gently at the front of Neville’s robes and tug him down so Draco could claim his mouth for a kiss, desperate and greedy and far less polite than he knew he should be.

Neville didn’t care much for that kind of politeness at the best of times, and in that moment his heart was pounding with the sheer unexpected rush of being alive. There had been a bright, terrible moment only minutes before when he had thought he would never see anyone he loved again, would never hold Draco again, never kiss him. He could hardly breathe, but right now he would rather be doing this than anything else in the world. 

Gripping a little more firmly where he still had his hold on Neville, Draco couldn’t quite stop the small, needy whimper that escaped him as they kissed. He’d been so scared, and now that those fears had been assuaged, he still had all the lingering side effects of all that worrying. Reassuring himself of Neville’s continued well being seemed as good a solution as anything else, and Draco managed to unclench his fingers to wander purposefully over the other man’s shoulders. He wasn’t checking for holes or anything, that would be ridiculous, and Neville would have said if he needed a Healer. Still, Draco kind of wanted - maybe needed - to see and feel for himself that his boyfriend was undamaged. 

“Nev,” he murmured when he broke away solely due to the need for air, though he didn’t pull back at all, his lips brushing against the brunet’s as he spoke. 

Neville knew that his body would be one enormous ache tomorrow; he might not be bleeding but half a day of running, hiding, fighting and carrying was going to have a physical toll as soon as he stopped moving. He might as well make the most of the adrenaline that still rushed through him. “Bed,” he grunted, uncharacteristically short. “Now.”

Draco shuddered at the tone of Neville’s voice, agreeing nonverbally with the undercurrent of urgency there. He didn’t let go of the other man’s robes as he started to walk backwards towards his bedroom, tugging Neville along with him as he hoped they didn’t accidentally trip along the way. 

Neville was already working open Draco’s outer robe as they walked, pushing it off his shoulders and letting it fall to the floor before they were even through the door. “You shouldn’t have come,” he murmured, between hot, clumsy kisses. “You know it’s dangerous for you there…” 

“I was more worried about you than me,” Draco admitted as he started on the fastenings of Neville’s robes, feeling all of the dirt and grime ground into the fabric from his obviously intense day. “Wasn’t really thinking about it,” he added as the backs of his knees hit the edge of the mattress. 

Neville shrugged off his uniform with only a little difficulty; it was heavy with dirt and sweat. He reached for Draco’s cardigan. “I’m glad you came,” he said, low and breathless. His whole body felt like it was humming. 

“I’m glad you came _back_ ,” Draco responded without thinking about it, and then froze for half a moment. He blinked his eyes open to look at Neville’s face, wondering if maybe that was too much, no matter how true it might have been. 

Neville swallowed, feeling the heaviness in the air catch in his throat. “Me too,” he said, with some difficulty. “I don’t… can we not talk about it? We can, later, if you want… but right now, I just want… I just want to fuck.” He reached his hand around the back of Draco’s neck, the other on his side, holding him close as though to let him go would be to lose him entirely. “Please?” 

Draco kind of wished he could take the words back, feeling the weight of them, and Neville’s agreement, in the air around them. He shuddered slightly at just hearing Neville say ‘fuck’, something about the vulgarity if it from his typically-straight-laced boyfriend sending a shock directly to his dick. Swallowing thickly past the sudden lump in his throat, he nodded, wrapping both arms around Neville tightly in return as he said, “Yes. Absolutely. Whatever you want.”

As if to emphasize that, Draco started to tug Neville’s shirt up out of his trousers - or rather, the rest of the way out, seeing as he was more than a little disheveled from all his activities of the day already. 

Neville helped, tugging his undershirt over his head and reaching for the loose buttons of Draco’s cardigan. In seconds he had him stripped entirely to the waist and had his fingers twisting in the fastenings of his jeans, pulling them down hard. It was hardly his usual careful, gradual style of lovemaking, but if Draco didn’t mind then he could lose himself in this, in him, just for a little while. 

Draco didn’t mind in the least, even if he wasn’t quite sure exactly how to handle Neville like this. It was no trouble at all to let him lead though, and he couldn’t help the undignified almost squeal that startled out of him as his jeans hit the floor. He reached for the button on Neville’s trousers in return, tilting his head up again to claim the brunet’s mouth for another kiss. 

Neville moaned into Draco’s mouth and heaved his weight forward, pinning Draco to the bed with one hand while he helped pull off his own trousers with the other until they slid down to the floor. He crawled his knees into the bed and shifted forward, practically dragging Draco with him. He threaded his fingers into white-blond hair and stopped to breathe just for half a second before taking Draco’s mouth again, hard and fierce. 

Neville’s hands in his hair was one of Draco's favorite things, which he was pretty sure his boyfriend was well aware of by now. Arching up against the other man’s weight atop him, Draco moaned into the kiss, his hands scrambling over the exposed skin of Neville’s upper back. He spread his thighs a little further, so Neville could settle between them more comfortably. 

Neville felt a hot shudder go through him as Draco shifted under him; he drew out of the kiss only to press them to the line of Draco’s jaw, and then under his chin, hot breath misting on pale skin. He reached between them with his free hand, found his boyfriend’s cock, familiar now in his hand. “Want you,” he breathed, desperately. 

Groaning as Neville’s fingers wrapped around him, Draco nodded in agreement or understanding or something along those lines. “You’ve got me,” he replied. “Whatever you want.” 

As if to emphasize that statement, Draco dropped his own hand, trailing over Neville’s chest and across his stomach to curl his own fingers around his boyfriend’s length. “What do you want?” he asked breathlessly, more than willing to do just about anything Neville could possibly ask for. 

Neville had managed to keep his wand beside him on the bed for this purpose; without disentangling himself he was able to summon a vial from the side table. He pulled back a little, panting and looking directly into Draco’s eyes as he drizzled the clear liquid onto his fingers. 

For his part, Draco couldn’t stop staring either, needing the validation of seeing Neville above him along with the sensation of having him pressed along the length of his torso. “Nev,” he murmured, arching up slightly as his hips squirmed in anticipation. 

Ordinarily Neville probably would have teased, or made a wry comment, but not tonight. He dipped his head again to nip sensually at Draco’s throat as his hand shifted between their legs, found Draco’s hole, slipped inside. 

Breathing out a soft sigh as Neville’s mouth found the sensitive skin of his throat, Draco slid one hand into his boyfriend’s curls, hoping the tiny tremble in his fingers wasn’t noticeable. He moaned, forcing himself to relax around Neville’s fingers. With a shaky inhale, Draco requested, “More.”

Neville responded immediately. Later he might think about how far he had come in just a few months, how far they had both come, together, but at the moment he had to focus entirely on this; if he did not, he was afraid of what he might see the next time he closed his eyes. And it helped that it felt good. Really really good. He slid in a second finger, adjusting his position a little so that he could do so carefully; he was still thrumming with adrenaline, but he wasn’t quite so far gone that he would forget to make sure he wasn’t pushing Draco too far. He pressed his mouth against Draco’s chest, a faint taste of salt, and grazed the skin with his teeth. “‘Kay?” he murmured. 

“Yes,” Draco answered instantly, bringing his head up to try and watch his boyfriend. “I’m great,” he reiterated, arching up again. Patience wasn’t his strong suit at the best of times, and right now he just wanted to have Neville as close as possible, as soon as possible, and damn whatever consequences there might be for rushing that just a bit. “Fuck, Nev, please,” he babbled, his fingers scrambling over the top of the brunet’s back. 

Neville hesitated about half a second, but in the end his aching desire won out over his caution. He shifted back, running his free hand over that porcelain-pale chest as he went, and tucked his knees under Draco’s thighs. Draco reluctantly let go of his grip on Neville’s shoulder blades, his hands skimming over his shoulder and collarbone to wrap around his forearm instead, unwilling to let go and entirely lose that connection. 

With Draco’s arse raised a few inches off the bed Neville had the perfect angle to position himself, and he hurriedly grasped in the sheets for the vial again. In a few seconds he was pushing his cock against Draco’s entrance, his heart already pounding, though whether it was anticipation or something else, it was hard to tell. 

Draco moaned as he felt Neville pressing into him, his head falling back briefly before he forced it back up so he could continue watching the other man’s face. He moved to wrap one leg around Neville’s waist, wanting to keep him close even if it didn’t seem like he was going anywhere anytime soon. His breathing was stupidly loud to his own ears, harsh and fast, but even that was a secondary concern, since Draco was too busy staring up at Neville to worry about much else. 

Neville’s breathing was tight and deep as he braced his hand against Draco’s stomach; it caught in his throat for a moment as he slid inside, slowly. “Fuck,” he breathed, shuddering, and looked up into Draco’s face. 

A chuckle startled its way out of Draco’s chest. “That’s my line,” he teased, his voice strained. He undulated up under Neville’s hand, his eyes still wide. The sight Neville above him, flushed and panting and focused on him brought a grin that was selfishly smug yet shy all at once. Gripping a little tighter where his fingers were still curled around Neville’s elbow, Draco whined softly, “Please, Nev, _move_!”

“I’m _trying_ not to hurt you,” Neville grunted, his own fingers tightening on Draco’s thigh. He let out a low, hissing breath as he drew back, just a little, and thrust forward. He had a lot more control this way than when Draco rode him; he had to admit that he liked it, and he liked the way he could see every move he made reflected in Draco’s expression. “Better?” 

“You won’t,” Draco promised, trying not to squirm too much. Any other words dropped out of his head as Neville started to move, and his head dropped back once more as his eyes fell halfway shut. Squeezing his thigh where it was locked around Neville’s waist, he hissed in answer, “Yess.”

Neville clenched his teeth on another vulgar exclamation; it was all he could do to control himself in the face of Draco flushed and naked under him. Lifting himself on his knees a little, he thrust his hips, coming out a little further each time as Draco’s ass finally relaxed around him. He was soon sweating with the effort, and his damp hair stuck to his forehead as he shifted his weight forward, breathing hard and grunting with low pleasure at each movement. 

Even through half-lidded eyes, it was a pleasure all it’s own to watch Neville. Shudders periodically went down Draco’s spine as he listened to his noises as well, whimpers of his own escaping in return. 

Neville’s hand stroked down Draco’s stomach and found his dick again; he palmed it, stroking slowly, never taking his eyes off Draco’s face. The motion tugged a long moan out of the blond, and he curled up, digging his fingertips into Neville’s arm as his eyes opened fully to catch his gaze. 

Neville breathed deeply and audibly, lips parted, a shudder of pleasure going through him with every thrust. It wasn’t long before his urges got the better of his caution, and he began moving faster, the force of his thrusts deepening as he put more of his body to work, muscles in his thighs, hips and abdomen straining. His hand stroked faster as well, and Draco’s reactions were enough to make his own chest tighten, his pace increasing even more. 

Draco knew he was being stupidly loud, moaning and whining with every movement Neville made, but he couldn’t help himself, not when everything felt as good as it did. He rocked back to meet those thrusts as best he could, at least until Neville’s rhythm went beyond his ability to keep pace with. Arching up into his boyfriend’s grip, it didn’t take long at all for Draco to find himself teetering on the edge of his orgasm. “Close, Nev, please, don’t stop,” he panted, his fingers gripped even tighter where he was still holding onto Neville’s arm.

Neville scarcely needed encouragement. His rhythmic thrusts became more of a frantic pounding, shoving all his weight forward with every panting, grunting stroke, his left hand going from Draco’s thought to brace himself against the bed. Damp hair fell into his eyes, and for a moment he closed them, losing himself in the hot, thick intensity of it.

Between the way Neville was moving inside him, and stroking him, and the vision of him above Draco, lost in his own pleasure, it took no time at all for Draco to come with a whimper, clenching down on the length of Neville’s cock inside him as he rode it out, covering them both with his release. His legs locked more tightly around his boyfriend’s waist at the same time, holding him as close as possible as the pleasure washed over him. 

Neville felt Draco shudder and opened his eyes just in time to see him come undone. It only took him a few more strokes, hard and fast and rough, before he fell apart himself, with a low cry. He felt his whole body practically convulse with the force of it, and after a few more slow, languishing thrusts, breath catching in his throat, he all but collapsed on top of Draco, his limbs barely capable of holding his own weight any longer. 

It was a pleasure all its own to watch and hear and feel Neville follow him over that edge into orgasm, and Draco shuddered as he felt Neville spill inside him. He adjusted for the sudden increase in weight atop him, but it was nice, feeling all of his boyfriend pressed against him. Smoothing one hand over Neville’s back, Draco turned his head, seeking his mouth to kiss him again as the fingers of his other hand combed into Neville’s hair. 

Neville reacted instinctively to Draco’s mouth, responding to the kiss with a soft, low noise in the back of his throat. His heart was still pounding, but as the adrenaline finally started to fade, he felt exhaustion starting to take over. Everything ached; his back and shoulders in particular, and he felt both physically and emotionally drained. He managed to shift enough that he could fall to one side, one arm and one leg still draped over Draco, practically clinging to him as he caught his breath. 

Humming happily in return as they kissed, Draco moved with Neville as he rearranged, unwilling to be separated from him just yet. He tucked himself in against the taller man’s chest, still panting slightly, and therefore getting a lungful of the reassuring scent of Neville’s skin with every inhalation of breath. His fingers continued wandering, the need to touch still thrumming in his veins even as he stared again, apparently unable to look away. “Alright?” Draco asked softly, the word almost just a sigh.

Neville swallowed. “I… think so,” he managed finally. “Just… you know. Really, really long day.” He nuzzled a little against Draco’s hair. “You? That wasn’t… too much?” 

“Yeah, I bet,” Draco commented, leaving it at that. They’d deal with whatever repercussions of this experience in the morning, or some other later point. For now, he just wanted to enjoy the warmth of his boyfriend naked against him in bed. “I am great,” he was quick to reassure Neville. “There’s no such thing as too much of you.”

Neville chuckled tiredly, finally starting to feel a little more like himself. “That’s very romantic, but I’m not sure it’s true.” He tucked his head into Draco’s neck, feeling safer than he had for what seemed like a long while. “Thank you,” he said after a moment, not even sure himself what exactly he was especially grateful for. 

The sound of Neville’s laughter brought a small smile to Draco’s face. “I have yet to see evidence to the contrary,” he retorted, combing his fingers into Neville’s hair once again as they snuggled closer together. The thanks had him a little confused - Draco had no idea what could have possibly prompted it, but a lifetime of manners had him responding automatically, if a little uncertain, “You’re welcome.”

Neville didn’t know how to explain that he had never had anyone waiting for him before. He had been expecting to go home and spend the night alone, and then have to beg Draco’s forgiveness for missing dinner, again. Whenever something went wrong, Hermione and Ginny were always there, and sometimes Mrs. Weasley, but the Aurors knew not to contact Mrs. Longbottom unless it was an absolute emergency, so they didn’t, and he preferred it that way, but… it felt strange to know that he now had someone who would come looking for him when he went missing. Just for him. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of it all, and it didn’t help that his brain was not exactly running on full power, after twelve hours running and fighting and carrying wounded comrades away from the field of battle. “So tired,” he sighed. “I should… shower, or something, but I’m not sure I can move.” 

“So then don’t move,” Draco responded immediately. Selfishly, he didn’t really want Neville to get up out of bed at the moment. “Do a quick cleaning charm, and we can take a shower in the morning,” he offered. He would have done the charm himself, if he hadn’t left his wand sitting on the living room floor, which was a terrible idea in hindsight, and not only for this exact reason. 

Neville held that cleaning charms weren’t anywhere near as good as washing, but he couldn’t imagine hauling himself out of bed at this point, either. “Mmkay,” he murmured, fumbling about in the sheets for his wand. It actually required two charms before he felt marginally human again, and a third for Draco. Then he put the wand carefully onto the side table and slumped down again at Draco’s side, tugging the duvet over them finally. He felt cold all of sudden, as his body, which had been burning energy for hours, finally relaxed. But Draco was warm, and it felt good to hold him close and to know that he wasn’t alone. 

Holding Neville close, Draco found his hands meandering over his skin again, stroking up and down the length of his spine once they were settled. The fears and anxiety from earlier in the evening were dulled, but he wouldn’t be surprised if they resurfaced in his dreams, even with Neville right next to him. He was tired - probably not as exhausted as Neville was - but he couldn’t bring himself to close his eyes quite yet, his gaze still raking over the other man, no matter that he’d established that he was at least mostly intact. 

Neville closed his eyes, unable to hold them open any longer, and drifted off to the comforting touch of Draco’s fingers soothing him. His sleep was deep, if not entirely restful; he jerked himself awake twice, green light flashing behind his eyelids and the sound of distant screaming in his ears, but each time he found himself still warm and safe in Draco’s arms, and let himself be drawn back into unconsciousness once more, until his breathing finally evened out properly. 

Draco didn’t fall asleep as quickly as Neville did, and he couldn’t help the way he continued staring even as Neville started snoring. His relief at having his boyfriend safe and whole next to him was palpable - but Draco also couldn’t help wondering how many times something like this had happened in the past. And how many times it would happen in the future. Shoving the thought away to be dealt with later, Draco focused on the sounds of Neville breathing as he too closed his eyes, trying to let the sounds of his snores lull him to sleep. 

If he dreamt at all, Draco didn’t remember them in the morning, waking up with the sunlight streaming through the windows, and Neville still fast asleep beside him. Rather than get up and disturb the moment, Draco stretched slightly and then settled again, reaching out to touch once more, his fingers on Neville’s arm. 

Neville came out of sleep like he was trying claw his way out of a ball of cotton wool. He half opened one bleary eye. “Morn’n,” he muttered, as last night came back to him in a blur. 

“Good morning,” Draco murmured in return, a soft sort of smile growing on his face. “How do you feel?” he asked, his thumb still stroking gently over the curve of Neville’s bicep. 

“Like I’ve been trod on by a Hungarian Horntail,” Neville groaned, as the rest of his body woke up and reminded him that he’d spent most of yesterday crouched double under the weight of another human being. Everything ached. “What time is it?” 

Draco glanced over Neville’s shoulder to see the clock on the end table. “Almost seven-thirty,” he answered, and then chewed on his bottom lip briefly. “Do you still hate the idea of baths?” he asked, softly teasing, and the intimacy of having the knowledge to make such a reference struck him somewhere in the depths of his chest. “It might help with the aches. I could run you one before or after breakfast.”

“Mm.” Neville sighed and forced his eyes open properly. “I suppose. Anything that’s going to help me stand up properly by ten.” He winced, and reached over to put one hand on Draco’s side. “Thank you for all this. Bringing me here.” 

Draco didn’t think he’d done anything worthy of thanks, because after all, “I certainly wasn’t going to just leave you there.” He bit down on the _‘do you know how long I waited for you?’_ that would have been an ordinary sarcastic quip with no real meaning behind it, if he’d said it yesterday morning. Today, though, it was a little too close to things he wasn’t sure he was ready to face, let alone talk about. But in any case, he could concentrate on moving on to a better topic, in his eyes. He shrugged lightly once, and then asked, “What do you want for breakfast?”

“Eggs,” Neville said without hesitation, and smiled. “I like the way you do them.” 

Smiling back, and not just because eggs were easy, Draco asked playfully, “With toast and tea?” as if he’d ever made eggs without both of those things to go along with them. Neville murmured assent, and he leaned in, nuzzling his face against Neville’s briefly, dragging the tip of his nose along Neville’s cheekbone. At the same time, his hand moved to cover where Neville’s was resting on his skin, and tangled their fingers together. 

“Do you want breakfast before or after your bath? I suppose technically, I could feed you breakfast in the bath, if you really wanted. I think bed is more traditional for that though.” Draco bit down on his lip again when he realized he was babbling, pulling back just enough that he could look at Neville’s face.

Neville’s stomach rumbled; he realised he hadn’t eaten since a rushed lunch the day before. On the other hand he knew he wouldn’t enjoy breakfast if he was in this much pain. “After, I think,” he grunted, groaning as he rolled properly onto his side, regarding his boyfriend with a somewhat appraising look. He was chattering a lot for first thing in the morning. “Are you okay?” he asked, yawning. 

“Yeah,” Draco answered automatically, because even if he wasn’t, now was not the time to burden Neville with whatever minor emotional panic attack he might be having internally. He leaned in just enough to press a brief kiss to Neville’s lips, and then moved to roll out of bed. “I’ll go run your bath, and come get you when it’s ready,” he offered. “Don’t go back to sleep.”

“Not making any promises,” Neville muttered, flopping back into his back and rubbing his eyes. Usually he would be mortified that he had to be taken care of like a child, but he was too tired and sore to protest. Besides, it felt nice. 

Draco smiled at that retort, fond and amused and pleased all at once. He took half a moment to stare at Neville one more time, and then slipped out of the room. It was easy enough to run the water into the tub, and he took the chance to brush his teeth and untangle his hair while the tub filled. Once that was done, he closed his eyes briefly, compartmentalizing all the emotions running rampant at the moment. Draco focused, because taking care of Neville took precedence, before anything else. 

Neville managed to sit up in bed, though his entire back protested the movement. He reminded himself sternly that Ron was probably feeling worse today, and poor Somerson would probably be in the hospital for days if not weeks. He was lucky, he thought grimly as he rubbed at his bristling chin. As he sat there listening to the water running his thoughts wandered to what had happened later that night. He couldn’t remember ever being so… _aggressive_ , in bed before, and while it had felt good at the time it now made him uncomfortable to think about it. Of course, Draco hadn’t seemed to mind, but Draco hadn’t been inside his head, hadn’t seen the dark, frightening emotions from whence the adrenaline had coursed. He groaned and tried to run his fingers through his hair, but it was hopelessly tangled. Life was too bloody short, if he had learned anything from the last twenty four hours. What that meant, he wasn’t entirely sure yet. 

It didn’t take long for the tub to fill the rest of the way, a hint of steam coming off the top of the water. Draco left the door open behind him as he made his way back into the bedroom. He blinked at the sight of Neville sitting up in bed, if only because he’d been halfway expecting to have to wake him up again. 

Frowning slightly at the mess of bruises covering the back of Neville’s shoulder, Draco stopped at the side of the bed and asked, “Do you want any help?”

Neville yawned and shook his head, a little sheepish that he was coming off quite that helpless. “I can manage,” he said, “I’m just being a baby.” Grunting he managed to get himself standing, though he did have to steady himself against the wall for a moment as his back screamed in protest. Draco had to clench his hands into fists at his side briefly so that he didn’t reach out to try and support him, the urge to help stronger than he might have thought. Neville remembered the green light coming out of the dark, and throwing himself to the ground, dragging Somerson and Phillip down with him. He must have landed on his shoulder, because it felt like one big bruise. He stretched, and his spine clicked audibly, causing Draco to wince in sympathy. “Ugh. I feel about seventy years old.”

“Well, you’re looking very good for that age,” Draco commented, the words a little more strained than they normally would be. 

“Very funny,” Neville groaned, staggering towards the bathroom. He grimaced at his own reflection in the mirror. He might not look seventy, but he did look like he’d spent several hours crouching in dirt. He sank into the bath, wincing a little at the heat, but he did feel better almost immediately as it soothed his aching muscles. “Mm. That’s nice. Thanks.”

Draco followed Neville’s slow progress to the bathroom, keeping pace a couple steps behind. He lingered in the doorway until Neville sat down in the tub, moving to stand fully in the room instead of lurking in the doorjamb. It abruptly occurred to him that he was hovering, and that technically his presence wasn’t really necessary, but at the same time, he couldn’t quite imagine leaving Neville alone to his own devices just quite yet. Twisting his fingers together nervously for a moment, Draco moved to sit on the floor next to the tub, only slightly tentative in the movement. “You’re welcome,” he murmured in return, mostly out of reflex. 

Neville closed his eyes for a moment and sighed, letting the hot steam help to clear his lungs. “What are you doing?” he asked, in a low relaxed murmur, reaching his arm over the side of the tub and coming in contact with Draco’s hair. “Are you sitting naked on the floor?” 

Suddenly feeling woefully incompetent, Draco felt the tips of his ears burn. Even the lovely sensation of Neville’s fingers in his hair couldn’t completely counteract the knot in his stomach that insisted he was doing this all wrong, whatever _this_ might be. The entire morning, maybe. “I… yeah? It’s… I’m fine,” Draco managed, feeling stupider than the younger version of himself had ever accused Neville of being. 

“You’re being weird,” Neville murmured, half lulled to sleep again by the hot water. “Talk to me. What’s going on?” 

Draco tensed, and then deflated as Neville called him out on his behavior. He sighed lightly, and then admitted softly, “I’m scared that I’m messing this up. That I’m doing it all wrong.” 

Being a caretaker of any variety wasn’t something Draco had any experience with for anyone over the age of about nine, no matter how much he might want to be able to do that for Neville now. “I just… wanna make sure you’re as okay as I can help you be,” he tried, feeling inadequate all over again. 

Neville couldn’t help but be confused further by this, but he could hear the real distress in Draco’s voice. “You are,” he promised. “You really don’t have to do any of this, you know. If I was home right now I’d have got my butt out of bed somehow. This is nicer, but it’s not… I don’t think there’s a right or wrong handbook for this sort of thing.” He chuckled. “If there was you could probably ask Hermione. Ron gets actually injured all the time, not just bruised up. I’ve been lucky. Well,” he amended, opening his eyes onto the ceiling. “Except for that one time, and you were there to save me.” He stroked Draco’s hair in what he hoped was a comforting sort of way, though the angle was a little awkward. “What I mean is, you aren’t messing anything up,” he promised. 

There almost certainly was a wrong way to handle this type of situation, but since Neville didn’t seem to think he was, Draco was far less worried about it. He tilted his head into that touch, even though it seemed selfish to be taking that comfort from Neville when he was supposed to be the one providing it - but his boyfriend’s fingers in his hair was a weak point, and they both knew it. “Okay,” he agreed, easier than he would have expected. 

“I thought maybe, I…” Neville started, struggling with divulging his own insecurities. “Maybe I freaked you out, or… I know last night was… different.” 

Draco frowned slightly at that. “You didn’t freak me out,” he answered, because that much at least was true - it had been the _lack_ of Neville’s presence that had made him freaked out and weird, but that was about his own emotional reaction to an impending sense of loss, not anything that Neville himself had done. “The sex was a little unusual, but not in a bad way,” Draco commented, hoping that was what Neville meant by ‘different’, and not the circumstances that had led to it. 

Neville shifted around in the bath - carefully so that he didn’t end up slipping around like a flailing whale - and peered over the edge of the tub so that he could look down into Draco’s face, his own eyes a little dark with concern. “Promise?” he said, unable to hide the insecurity in his voice. “If I did something you didn’t like, you would tell me, right?” 

Meeting Neville’s eyes, Draco nodded even as he reached out to tangle their fingers together. “Yes, I promise,” he confirmed verbally, sensing that Neville needed to hear him say it. He leaned in, resting his forehead gently against his boyfriend’s. 

Neville sighed out significant relief and tried to let his body relax. “I’ve never had anyone take care of me like this,” he said, after a moment. “You’re spoiling me, if anything.” 

That brought a small smile to Draco’s face. As far as he knew, Neville hadn’t ever been spoiled, and there was something thrilling in being able to do that for him. He chuckled once as he admitted, “That’s pretty much what I was going for.” 

Neville smiled. “Please get up off the floor,” he said, sliding back into the tub properly. “I’m fine. I’ll yell if I need anything, okay?” 

Draco huffed indignantly at that directive, but it lacked any real seriousness. As awkward as the conversation might have been, he did feel better for having had it. “Fine,” he agreed with an insincere roll of his eyes as he pushed himself up to stand. He bent back down to press a very brief kiss to Neville’s mouth before moving to leave the room. “I am going to come back and check on you though,” he added as he left, seeing as it only felt fair to give Neville a fair warning of that. 

Back in the bedroom, Draco got dressed in a pair of pajama pants and a t-shirt that had been Neville’s, once upon a time, until he’d left it one day and Draco had claimed it for his own, so it was just a touch too wide in the shoulders. He went out into the living room to grab his wand, and started a pot of tea while he was at it, pausing in the kitchen as he waited for the water to boil. 

Neville soaked for a minute more, but that was about as much as his patience for relaxation could take. The heat and the water seemed to have done its work, anyway, he already felt a lot less stiff. He scrubbed himself all over until he felt properly clean, and did his best to wash his hair, by which time the water was pretty murky. Grimacing at it, he staggered out of the tub and dried off. His shoulder, when he caught a glance at it reflected in the mirror, did look about as painful as it felt, but other than a few scrapes he was pretty miraculously whole. 

He went out into the kitchen before Draco could come after him, the towel wrapped around his waist. “Got something I could wear?” he asked, leaning against the nearest wall. “I’ll go home and get some fresh clothes before I go back, but if I put those robes back on first I might have to wash all over again.” 

Draco hadn’t been expecting Neville to be done quite so quickly, but he wasn’t going to complain about having his company. Turning around, he couldn’t help the way his eyes raked over his boyfriend for a moment before answering, “I can probably find something for you.” 

He paused, considering what he was about to offer, and then decided to go ahead with it. “If you wanted to bring over some things to leave here… I have more drawers and closet space than even I can use.”

“Sure,” Neville said, without really thinking about it, and then paused, realising what he had agreed to. “Oh. I mean. Yes, please, if you… I mean that probably makes more sense than me borrowing your brush, all the time.” 

Draco beamed at Neville’s easy agreement, and then wider as he seemed to figure out the full implications of it. “I mean, I don’t mind,” he teased, stepping into Neville’s space. “But it might make mornings like this easier.” 

He debated with himself for half a moment before leaning in to steal another kiss - he really needed to get a grip on how clingy he was being, Merlin’s balls - and then moved to lead the way back into the bedroom to find Neville something to wear. Draco rifled through the drawers quickly, passing over the softest pajama bottoms he owned, and another of Neville’s own t-shirts. 

“Cheers,” Neville grunted, as he tugged on the clothes, realising that he had already started leaving stuff here without asking. It was hardly his fault though, he reasoned, since he seemed to end up taking his clothes off every time he visited. “Your mum doesn’t come by much, does she?” he asked, voicing his thoughts as they went back to the kitchen. “I mean, she’s not going to find another man’s stuff here and freak out?” 

“Nev, you are the only company I ever have over here,” Draco commented, almost absentmindedly. He started pulling out pans and utensils to start cooking, sending the brewing teapot in Neville’s direction with a small flick of his wand. “How many eggs do you want?”

“Three,” Neville said, without hesitation and only because asking for any more would have seemed greedy. “I’m starving.” He grabbed the teapot out of the air and started making tea for them both. He already knew where everything was, and how Draco liked his.”That’s a bit sad,” he said, slipping onto a stool and nursing his hot cup between his hands. “That you never have anyone else over. You need some more friends.” 

Draco pulled out four eggs for Neville, just in case he was being weirdly modest - better to make too much and have Neville not finish than to not make enough and have him still be hungry but unwilling to say so. He shrugged, not particularly concerned about his lack of a social circle at this point in time. “Greg isn’t really the type to come over and hang out, he’d rather go out to the pub. Tracey is still in Morocco. And Hermione and I aren’t really at that point yet.”

“I meant new friends,” Neville clarified, though he was a little shocked by how short the shortlist actually was. No wonder Draco had been so ready to be friends with _him,_ of all people. “What about wossname, from the charity? Jorge? He’s our age.” The idea, once he had voiced it, made him uncomfortable, but he chided himself sternly; he was _not_ going to be that petty, just because the man was good-looking and exotic. 

Shrugging, Draco said, “I mean, maybe. I could try, I guess.” He was, admittedly, trying to split his attention between the conversation and making sure he didn’t burn the eggs or the toast, so he probably wasn’t giving his answers as much thought as he should have. 

“Just a suggestion,” Neville said, frowning a little at Draco’s apparent indifference. “I just think you should have some to talk to when I’m not around.” He sipped his tea. “And I feel like I should get credit for suggesting you go hang out with the hot American guy.” 

Plating the food, Draco chuckled and almost dropped his toast at Neville’s statement. “Is he? I didn’t notice,” he teased with a hint of a smirk. The expression got more serious as he set the food down in front of Neville, and added softly, “Nobody’s as attractive as you are anyway.”

Neville rolled his eyes. “You know that’s nonsense,” he said, flatly. “I’d argue about it but I’m too hungry.” He dug immediately into the food, struggling to keep his manners in check. 

“It’s really not,” Draco replied, moving to sit down at Neville’s side. He didn’t really _want_ to argue about Neville’s level of attractiveness, given that the man never seemed to believe him, no matter how honest Draco was being about it. Eating at a more sedate pace, Draco kept stealing glances at Neville next to him, just because he could. “I can pack up the leftovers from dinner yesterday if you want to take it with you for lunch,” he offered.

Neville swallowed, almost choking himself. He wanted to say no, because Draco had already done more than enough, but it would save him having to fend for himself later on. “That’d be great,” he said. “If you don’t need it - are you working today?” 

Draco shook his head, glad for that happy coincidence - he didn’t think he could concentrate on work today. “I might head over to the foundation and see the kids for a bit. But I should be back this afternoon, if… if you wanna come back when you’re done with work.” He lost a bit of his confidence halfway through the statement, realizing it went completely against his attempts to not be as clingy. 

“Well there’s no way I’ll be on shift tonight,” Neville sighed. “They won’t put any of us back on for a few days after yesterday. I expect the debrief won’t take more than a couple hours. So yeah, I’ll come back.” He smiled. “I owe you dinner, I think.” 

Unable to stop himself from smiling back even as he shook his head, Draco insisted, “You don’t owe me anything.”

“Dinner,” Neville said firmly, taking a defiant bite of his toast. “No arguments. And whatever else you want to do. Another film, or something. Merlin knows I could do with a fun evening.”

As always, Neville taking charge of any situation sent a small shudder down Draco’s spine. “Okay,” he acquiesced. “We’ll figure it out together, when you get back.”


	12. Old friends, old enemies

Getting to have lunch with Neville in the middle of a work day was a rare pleasure, and one that Draco intended to make the most of. He was, selfishly, glad that they’d worked out the logistics via owl earlier, so that he was just waiting at the restaurant instead of going to find Neville at the Ministry and enduring the glares of Potter and Weasley. Which he would have dealt with, if he’d had to - but it was still rather nice not to have to worry about it.

Draco glanced down at his watch - he wasn’t really surprised that he’d arrived first, the shop was closer than the Ministry was, and he’d left a few minutes early to make sure he was on time. Technically, he was even ahead of their reservation, so he found an unobtrusive part of the lobby wall to lean against as he waited, keeping one eye on the door for Neville’s entrance.

Neville, meanwhile, did everything he could that day to make sure he would be on time. He was late so often, rushing from a shift that ran over time or through sheer absentmindedness, and he wanted to show that it wasn’t carelessness or laziness on his part. He had hoped to actually get there before Draco, so that he was a bit disappointed to get there and find him there already. “How are you so punctual?” he complained, coming over and putting a hand on Draco’s waist after a quick glance around. “I never beat you anywhere.” 

Beaming at just the sight of Neville, Draco leaned into that touch briefly, chuckling at his boyfriend’s words. “Habit, I guess,” he replied. He wasn’t bothered by the wait; after the incident where Neville had been missing for six hours, he had reevaluated and adjusted his thoughts about lateness in general, and Neville’s in particular. He was more pleased that the other man had shown up at all, than the time frame in which he’d done so. “Shall we?” he asked, gesturing towards where the host was waiting to lead them to a table. 

Neville nodded, and they moved together towards the table. It was unusual that they got to meet in the middle of the day, and it felt daring to do so in a wizarding place, in broad daylight. “How’s your day going?” He asked, grinning as they sat down. 

“Not bad. Kind of boring, actually. It’s better now, though,” Draco responded, grinning back at Neville across the table. He was trying not to be overly obvious with his affection, which was difficult, considering that he kind of felt like it was written across his face for everyone to see. “Yours?” he asked in return.

“Similarly boring, but in my case that’s a plus,” Neville admitted. “Paperwork, mostly. They haven’t let those of us who were in the ambush go back into the field, even though I’ve told them a dozen times that I’m fine.” 

Draco was perfectly fine with Neville not going back out into the same insanity that had resulted in his disappearance last time, though he knew better than to vocalize that opinion. “I think Burke is going want to do a confirmation of inventory next week, so I will be sharing in your paperwork pain.”

He paused to give his drink order to the waiter who’d come over, sticking with water since they did have to go back to work after this. Draco expected that was going to be even more difficult than he was already anticipating. “What are your plans for this weekend?”

“I promised I’d spend Saturday with Ginny,” he replied. “And I think Gran needs some help moving stuff around the house, but I think Sunday is free. You?” 

“I have to work on Saturday, but Sunday I’m all yours, if you want,” Draco answered. He really hadn’t improved on his clinginess the way he’d promised himself he would, but it was difficult, especially given their already limited time to be together. 

Neville smiled. “If you aren’t getting sick of me,” he said, draining most of his glass. Apparently he was thirsty. Even on a day doing repetitive office work he wasn’t good at attending to basic human needs. 

“Never,” Draco promised immediately, though he suspected Neville would think it was a line, no matter how truthful he was being. “I’m always happy to spend time with you. Even with all our clothes on,” he added in a slightly lower voice, smirking across the table at his boyfriend. 

Neville flushed and chuckled. “Me too,” he admitted. Maybe it helped that they often went several days if not weeks between seeing each other, but after six months together he still found his heartbeat rising every time they met. He didn’t know if that was normal or not, but he wasn’t going to question it if he didn’t have to. 

Beaming at that response, Draco found himself momentarily lost for words, too distracted by the happiness blooming in his chest to think of something to say. He kind of wished they’d picked somewhere else, since given their current location, he couldn’t lean over and steal a kiss the way he wanted to. Thankfully, the waiter returned to refill their water glasses and take their orders, so Draco could refocus on the present. 

Neville ordered fish with a side of vegetables; he knew it was silly, but he was always unconsciously aware of what he ate around Draco, some insecurity left over from the days when the prim, sneering Slytherin had mocked his appearance as well as his lack of intelligence. He settled back comfortably into his seat, glad that he had changed out of his bright red Auror’s robes. They tended to attract attention, and he didn’t need people looking at them more than they already were, if they had any passing familiarity with either of their families. Still, no one could make a fuss about his having lunch with a friend, surely. “How are things at the foundation?” he asked. 

Mirroring Neville’s order - mostly because Draco had been too distracted by the man sitting across from him to actually look at the menu - he watched as his boyfriend got comfortable, taking another quick mental snapshot to add to his ever-growing collection. “They’re going well. The museum trip is in a couple of weeks. Some of the kids asked if you’re coming, by the way,” Draco replied. “I’m still working on the plan Hermione wants to see in order for us to take that property off your hands, but making progress, I think.”

Neville felt a bit of a warm glow at the thought that the kids were thinking of him. It was nice to be liked by anyone, of course, but it was somehow doubly nice to feel that he might have earned the respect of those children - even if it was just because he had been literally seeing how far he could throw them. “I’d like to come, if I’m invited,” he said, “and if it doesn’t clash with work, though I suppose I can request the day off, if I know when. I don’t know much about Muggle history.” 

“Of course you’re invited. Consider this an official invitation, if you like,” Draco teased, another smile forming. “I’ll get you the exact date.” It probably went without saying that Draco likely knew even less than Neville did about Muggle history, so he was very interested to see what Hermione had planned. 

“Cheers,” Neville grinned, already excited at the prospect of getting to spend a day watching Draco muck around with the kids, something he found not only endearing, but a comforting reminder of just how much his boyfriend had changed over the last few years. “Then I will.”

“Excellent,” Draco commented, still grinning. He opened his mouth to ask another question, but whatever he might have said next dropped completely out of his head when he heard a voice that was sadly still recognizable, all these years later. 

“Well, well, well. Isn’t this a surprise?” 

Even with just half a dozen words, Blaise Zabini managed to pour condescending disdain in every syllable. 

Draco felt his facial expression shift, all the openness he normally showed Neville getting hidden under a stereotypical Slytherin aloofness. “Blaise,” Draco intoned coldly, turning just slightly to be able to glance at the man out of the corner of his eye. “I’d say it’s a pleasure, but we both know I’d be lying.”

A shudder went down Neville’s spine as Draco’s face somehow changed. This was not _his_ Draco, this was the Draco of his boyhood nightmares, and so was the voice; that cold sneer. He looked around, and Zabini looked back at him with a look of curious distaste. He wasn’t sure what to do; he and Draco hardly ever talked about their school years, and he had no real idea what the relationship was between him and Zabini; he wondered whether Draco’s dismissive comment was merely some kind of secret Slytherin sarcasm he didn’t understand. “Zabini,” he said, with a polite, uncertain sort of nod. 

“How curious is this?” Blaise commented, a sharp gleam to his eyes that Draco had learnt to be wary of in fifth year, the one that said he was considering the best ways to step on everyone in his immediate vicinity just for his own amusement. “The most pathetic excuse for a man having lunch with the Hero of Hogwarts,” he said, like he was making an announcement, sneering condescension in every letter of every word. “Absolutely fascinating.” 

Draco’s hackles rose when he saw the way Blaise shifted, directing his next words to Neville himself. “What could possibly have convinced you to give this scum of the earth the time of day? Did he get down on his knees and beg for forgiveness?” Blaise asked mockingly, and then continued, with a darker tone, “Or maybe he got on his knees for something else.” 

Neville froze, stuck somewhere between cold shock and hot, bubbling anger. He realised immediately that Zabini apparently knew more about Draco’s personal life than anyone else in his life whom Neville had met so far. The implications of that left a hard, heavy feeling in his stomach that was all too familiar. 

Even though Draco knew the comment was made for the shock value alone, that it was unlikely that Blaise even actually believed that to be the case, it still struck close enough to the truth for Draco to be on high alert. “Did they run out of people for you to insult in Spain, so you had to come back home for easier targets to make yourself feel better?” Draco interrupted, mostly because he wanted to get Blaise’s attention back on him so that he’d leave Neville alone. Draco had been dealing with Blaise’s attitude for years, it rarely bothered him any more, but he didn’t want his boyfriend to have to be subjected to it.

Neville’s eyes flickered between the two former Slytherins, not sure if he should say anything in case he escalated the situation. Nearby diners were already starting to pay attention. 

“Blaise, what are you doing, we’re going to be late,” came a voice from behind Zabini, and Draco just managed not to roll his eyes at just the sound of Pansy’s voice. He fixed her with an unamused glare when she insinuated herself at Blaise’s side, a hint of a sneer forming when she commented flatly, “Oh,” as she apparently took notice of them. 

“Pansy,” Draco greeted with the tiniest inclination of his head, not at all surprised when it was ignored. 

“Why are wasting your time with… this?” Pansy asked, making a dismissive gesture with her hand that covered the whole table, her entire demeanor setting Draco’s teeth on edge. 

Neville, who had so far sat carefully still despite his growing discomfort, had had just about enough; while he didn’t hold any particular grudge against Blaise, other than the general one he held for all the Slytherins who had gone along with the Carrows’ agenda in their seventh year, Pansy Parkinson was almost as ugly a memory of his childhood as Draco was. She had never passed up an opportunity to ridicule him, and if he could have looked past that, then she had vocally been in favour of handing Harry over to Voldemort. For Draco’s sake he might have been willing to look past even that, considering what he had forgiven Draco for already, but they did not seem to be on good terms with him anymore, either. “I thought your friends were raised with manners,” he said to Draco in as casual a voice as he could manage, ignoring Pansy entirely. “Isn’t that the traditional family values you lot always go on about?” 

Pansy rounded on him with a pinkness rising in her cheeks. “I wasn’t talking to _you_ , Fatbottom,” she hissed. 

Neville felt his inner child shrink into himself and hide, but he managed to keep the same flat expression on his face. “See what I mean?” he said, reaching for his glass and sipping water. “So unladylike.” 

“We’re not friends,” Blaise interjected at the same time Pansy made an indignant sort of squeal. Draco couldn’t quite help the genuinely amused smirk that was growing on his face, even with as shocked and amazed as he was with Neville’s input, which was perfectly timed and impressive. “I guess some things never do change, huh Malfoy. Still just as much of a whore as you’ve always been.”

“And yet, you are somehow even more despicable than I remember,” Draco retorted immediately, unconcerned with the insult. 

Neville, on the other hand, felt every muscle tense with anger. He knew he shouldn’t react, that it would only reveal a vulnerability on his part, but the blatant insult, in public and in full hearing of people around them, was too much to bear. He was not a child any longer, and did not have to merely sit and bear helplessly whatever was thrown at him, or the people he cared about. He caught Blaise’s eyes and held them, glaring. “Watch your mouth,” he said, in a low voice. 

Blaise smirked, his eyes gleaming. “Or what, Longbottom? You’ll stutter at me?” Pansy’s giggle was like another form of punctuation at the end of the statement, and Draco was rapidly losing his self-control. 

Thankfully, it was then that a waiter came over, and with the perfectly polite but firm tone that seemed to be trained into waitstaff, said, “I’m sorry, sir and ma’am, but unless you have a table, I do have to ask you to leave, as you’re interrupting some of our guests.”

“Excuse me?” Pansy turned up her pug-like nose at the poor man. “Do you know who I am?” 

Blaise was still glaring at Neville; there was something in that glare that was more than the typical dislike of a former Slytherin for a former Gryffindor - it was personal. Since Neville didn’t remember doing anything to him, or even speaking to him before, he knew it was because of who he was sitting with, and why. “You heard the man,” he said, in a would-be-calm voice. “Back off, or get out.” He reached into his pocket and flashed his Auror’s badge. “ _Or,_ ” he said, lips twitching, without breaking Zabini’s gaze. “I could arrest you for harassment, but I’d rather not; it’s a lot of paperwork and it’s not really worth my time.” 

Draco didn’t _really_ think Neville would arrest Blaise - but that didn’t mean he wasn’t a little blown away by the threat of it. The implications added to the warmth that lived in his chest that was the messy web of feelings he had for Neville, the ones he carried with him all the time. 

Pansy hesitated, apparently wary enough of Magical Law Enforcement to think twice about escalating things, but Blaise seemed unfazed, drawn so far into whatever emotion was driving him that it went past self-preservation. “Think you’re a big man now, don’t you Longbottom?” he muttered, and as his eyes flickered to Draco and back, his mouth twisted into a weird smile as he lowered his voice. “I should probably warn you. Malfoy is a leech. He needs to sit at the heels of someone more powerful than he is, so he’ll say whatever he thinks you want to hear. And he’ll suck your cock for whatever he thinks he can get.” 

Feeling as though he’d been kicked in the chest by a hippogriff, Draco closed his eyes, trying not to let the mask slip, because that? That one hurt, mostly because it was the type of thing he never wanted Neville to question, and now… well. He supposed he’d find out. Opening his mouth with a sigh to reiterate the demands that the two of them get out, Draco was a little relieved when he was beat to it by the girl at the table next to them. 

“Congratulations, you’ve proven you’re the biggest arsehole in here,” she proclaimed, saccharine sweet. “Maybe now you could leave and let the rest of us eat in peace?”

“Blaise,” Pansy warned, showing some actual sense as she looked around and saw everyone glaring at them. “Let’s go. This place clearly has a pest problem,” she added, in an attempt to regain her dignity. 

Neville was almost shaking with anger. Blaise was lucky that it was him sitting there and not Harry or Ron, or even Ginny, or he would be on the floor covered in blood or boils by now. Zabini was still glaring into his eyes, as though daring him to make a move, even while Pansy put her hand on his arm. “Just a warning,” he said, still with that faux smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “You’ll thank me later.” 

Neville stood up slowly. He was an inch or two shorter than Blaise, who had always been one of the tallest in their year except for Ron, but he was broader. Zabini looked like a good punch might floor him. Neville reached carefully for his wand, making the movement very obvious. Draco stopped breathing as he caught sight of the movement, desperately hoping that things didn’t escalate any further than they already had. Neville didn’t want to get into a real fight in the middle of a restaurant, physical or magical but he was betting that Zabini, whatever was going on in his mind, wouldn’t take that risk. “Piss off, Zabini,” he said, in a voice that practically vibrated with rage. “I’m not kidding.”

Blaise looked between them one last time, smirking at the sight of Draco’s deadpan glare, and shrugged as though he hadn’t just caused a huge scene. “You’re right, Pansy,” he said, finally stepping back. “Clearly this is not our kind of establishment.” 

Draco didn’t start breathing again until they were out the door, a deep breath that he immediately let out in a huge sigh. His eyes were wide as he immediately looked back at Neville’s face, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know what was probably writ plain across his face. Adoration and awe, most likely, mixed with a fair amount of shock. He didn’t even know what to say, his mouth hanging open slightly as he tried to find his voice. 

“I am so sorry,” he breathed out after a moment, and then promptly ran out of words again.

The waiter was hanging back, clearly unsure what he should do, and it took Neville a long moment before he stopped seeing red long enough to realise he was still standing up, and everyone was looking at him. Sitting down again and pretending nothing had happened felt out of the question, so he turned to the waiter. “Sorry about that,” he said, quietly. He dug in his pocket and handed the man several Galleons, enough to cover both of their meals and more. “For your trouble,” he said, and looked back at Draco. “I’m not really hungry anymore.” 

“Yeah, let’s go,” Draco agreed easily, because he really didn’t want to have whatever conversation was about to happen in front of witnesses. He stood quickly, grabbing his cloak from the back of his chair while he told the waiter, “Thank you.” With one hand he gestured for Neville to lead the way, seeing as he was closer to the door.

Neville’s heart was pounding as they left; he could feel dozens of pairs of eyes following them out the door, and probably through the windows once they were out in the street. He wasn’t sure what to do, or say, except that they needed to get out of the public eye without looking like they were running from anything. They also couldn’t go too fast in case they ran right back into Zabini and Parkinson. He led the way as slowly as he dared into a side street, where they had at least a little more privacy. “You okay?” he asked in an undertone, although he found himself not quite able to meet Draco’s eyes. 

Raking one hand through his hair nervously, Draco chuckled humorlessly. “I’m…” _fine_ , he was tempted to say, but it would be kind of a lie, and Draco did his best to never lie to Neville. “As okay as I can be,” he admitted instead, dragging his gaze up to Neville’s face. His stomach dropped a little when he realized it wasn’t being returned. “Are you?” he asked instead of thinking about it too hard. 

“I…” Neville swallowed and took a breath. He didn’t quite trust himself, not with anger still bubbling in the pit of his stomach. “This was a mistake,” he said instead, shaking his head. Draco felt the weight in his stomach drop even further at hearing that, and even Neville’s clarification didn’t relieve it. “Going out in public like this - people heard what he said, there’ll be rumours…” 

Feeling his stomach twist, Draco swallowed, hard. He couldn’t even remember which of them had suggested lunch in the first place, or how the plans had been made in full, but he was willing to take the blame for it. There was no changing the past, what was done was done, so now it was time to figure out what to do next. “What do you want to do?” he asked, proud that his voice hadn’t shaken. It was, after all, Neville’s reputation on the line. 

Neville tried to think, but his mind was a muddle still, he was somewhere between furious about the way Zabini had spoken to Draco and terrified that the whole incident was going to be nightmarishly detailed on the front page of the _Daily Prophet_ the next morning, and worst of all a kind of prickling doubt at the back of his mind, Zabini’s words echoing around and around in his head. “I don’t know,” he said. “We should get out of here, though,” he added, glancing over his shoulder. 

Breathing deeply, Draco couldn’t help the way his eyes tracked Neville’s movements, minute as they might be. His mind immediately jumped to offering his flat - but he didn’t want to inadvertently put any pressure on Neville, since it was still technically just Draco’s space. “The shop is around the corner,” he tried instead. “I closed it for lunch, B and B are out of town this week, so it’s just me.”

Neville nodded after a moment’s hesitation. “Okay,” he said, reasoning that no one could object to that; if anything it might make their being together appear like more of a business transaction, not that he wanted a reputation for buying from Borgin and Burke’s either, but the lesser of two evils. 

Draco nodded, leading the way down to the other side of the alley they’d entered - like most in Diagon, this one wound up in Knockturn on the opposite end, it was all just a matter of how far down one had to go to get there. It was a relatively quick walk, no more than three or four minutes, but every passing second and step felt as though Draco was walking to an executioner’s stand. Thankfully, Knockturn meant people minded their own business, so there were no eyes on them as they walked up to the side door of the shop, which Draco opened quickly, motioning Neville inside.

Neville bit back a comment about how dark and creepy the place was; it wasn’t the time for it, and it almost certainly would not come out like the joke he might otherwise have intended it to be. He leaned against the counter, still trying to calm his racing heart. “Nice friend you have there,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. 

“He’s not my friend,” Draco wanted to clarify. “Not any more, not for a long time.” His hands were trembling, and he wrapped his fingers around his own wrists to make it less obvious. And to stop himself from reaching out and touching Neville in some way, because he wasn’t sure it would be welcome, and if it wasn’t, being pushed away wasn’t how he wanted to find that out. 

“I picked that up, yeah,” Neville said. He hesitated, his lips half open on the brink of another question; manners dictated that to ask was the height of impoliteness, it was not any of his business - except that it _was_ , because the last ten minutes had _made_ it his business, and he couldn’t go on just not knowing. “You… were you and him…” he asked, still not looking up. “You know.” 

Draco took a deep breath, because he’d known that question was coming, and he’d been preparing his answer to almost the entire walk back. “I lost my virginity to Blaise in fifth year, and slept with him for most of that year,” he answered softly. “When we left for summer, I asked if we were still going to see each other. He told me he’d think of me while he was ‘fucking other pretty white twinks’ in Jamaica,” he added as the conclusion to that chapter of his life. 

Neville flinched. _Fifth_ year? Suddenly there was an image he could not get out of his head. “A simple ‘yes’ would have sufficed,” he murmured, causing Draco to wince slightly - just a few sentences in, and he was already messing things up even worse. Several things were also rearranging themselves in Neville’s head; he had always assumed that all the Slytherins were Malfoy cronies, but it was clear to him now that had he ever cared to look under the surface, he would have found the situation much more complicated. “And Parkinson?” he asked, thinking he might as well be in for a Knut as well as a Galleon, “I thought you _were_ friends with her. Weren’t you meant to marry her at some point?” 

Shrugging, Draco sighed, wondering how badly Neville was going to think of him after this. “Pansy was… convenient. Back when I was terrified about someone - anyone - figuring out my preferences. Before I realized I had bigger problems than that.”

Neville looked up sharply. “Bloody hell,” he breathed, shocked despite himself at how cold that sounded. “Don’t sugarcoat it.” He rubbed his arm. “I… I know you said that you’d never dated before, or stayed the night, but you _had_ had sex… I guess I didn’t think too hard about what that meant.” 

Draco floundered for a moment at that, his shoulders going up in another nervous shrug, the tension keeping them there. “I’m not…” Draco started, unsure beyond measure. “I don’t know how to do this,” he tried, a minor hand motion between the two of them to indicate their relationship. He had felt confident that Neville had known that, but now he was questioning everything he’d said and done since that first night, wondering if it might be construed in another manner, especially given the accusations that Blaise had made about Draco’s motivations. Addressing that wasn’t exactly something he wanted to do, but he wouldn’t feel right if he didn’t at least try and say something about it. 

Twisting his fingers together, Draco said quietly, “And for the record, I’m not sleeping with you because I want something from you. Other than your company, I mean.”

Neville looked over at Draco, clearly miserable, and nodded. “I know,” he said, into the silence of the shop. “I know that.” He sighed and sagged a little against the counter. “It’s just… he knew. He wasn’t just guessing. I could tell by the way he looked at me. He _knew_.” Hermione knowing was one thing, this felt different. Dangerous. 

Most of the weight in Draco’s stomach disappeared at that reassurance, though not quite all of it, and Draco knew himself well enough that he’d be striving to convince Neville of his sincerity for the next few weeks. “I was probably staring at you too blatantly,” Draco mused. “Or something along those lines.” Swallowing thickly again, he couldn’t help the way his fingers twitched, like his anxiety needed a physical outlet. “I’m sorry. For… all of this.”

Neville swallowed and shook his head. “It’s not your fault. And it’s not like my friends aren’t awful to you - not that they’re your friends, I get it.” He sighed. “Would he - do we have to worry about him telling people? I mean more people than he just basically announced it to just now?” 

“I don’t think so,” Draco answered. “Blaise always liked being able to see the reaction he was getting out of people, being obnoxious from a distance was never his style.” Which wasn’t to say that hadn’t changed, or that Pansy might try and leverage it in some way, but on the other hand, “Neither of them are very reliable sources, so I don’t know who would take them seriously even if either of them tried to tell anyone.”

Neville felt less sure about this than Draco seemed to be, and he was also worried about how much the other diners had heard - both their names, certainly, and more than enough to identify them for anyone who cared. If any of them were reporters… He swallowed, trying to clear the awful, heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach. It wasn’t just the danger of being discovered, either. It was being reminded of the kind of person Draco had used to be; somehow Pansy’s stupid nickname for him had brought it all back in a terrible rush. Of course he _knew_ Draco wasn’t faking how much he cared, only had to catch him with that cow-eyed adoring look on his face to know that, but at that exact moment Neville didn’t quite _feel_ it. “Okay,” he said, low. He bit his lip, somehow feeling even more dejected than before. “Maybe… maybe we should be more careful. Just meet at your place, or Muggle London… or maybe not even that. Maybe… maybe we should even take a break, for a while?” The thought made his stomach turn, but the risk suddenly seemed much higher than before. “I don’t know. I... I don’t know how to do this, either.”

Watching Neville’s expressions didn’t make Draco any less nervous. The uncertainty and the doubt that seemed to be coming off his boyfriend in waves had him tensing with anxiety, suddenly afraid there was no way this was going to end well. He’d be perfectly fine with never seeing Neville outside of his flat or whatever part of Muggle London they chose, though Neville continued speaking before he could voice that opinion.  
  
Draco’s stomach dropped again at that last suggestion, and he had to curl his hands into balls at his sides to stop them from shaking any more than they already were. He liked to think of himself as realistic, and in the back of his mind he’d always suspected that Neville would eventually come to his senses and leave him, that he’d figure out he could have a relationship worth a lot more for a lot less trouble than Draco was. He’d been foolish enough to hope that it might have lasted a little longer though.  
  
With his fingernails digging into his palms to stop any tears from forming in his eyes, Draco managed to not choke on the words as he asked, “Is that what you want?”

“No!” Neville exclaimed, looking up at him incredulously. “Of course it isn’t - don’t look at me like that - I… I want you to be safe! And after this, I can’t… I don’t know if you will be, if people find out, and it’s not worth you getting hurt because of me. I don’t know what else to do.” 

That immediate reaction in the negative was more uplifting than Draco could have ever put into words. Breathing out a small sigh of relief as he continued listening, getting more and more confused the longer Neville went on. It was not at all what he’d been expecting, and as such, he was kind of at a loss of how to respond. “What on earth are you talking about?” Draco asked softly, feeling as though they somehow weren’t having the same conversation any more. 

“That was scary, Draco,” Neville said, feeling at a loss himself. “There was almost a fight. I thought Harry and Ron was all we had to worry about, not to mention our families, but…” he shook his head. “Now I don’t know, I think this could be dangerous. You could get hurt.” 

At some point, Draco’s fingers had uncurled from the fists he’d had them clenched into, though he was still shaking just slightly. Reaching out tentatively, his combed his fingers into Neville’s hair gently, and even that small touch was reassuring all on its own. “Nev, I don’t…” Draco started, then stalled out, uncertain. “You were a lot closer to getting hurt just now than I was. And I’m not… I can’t stand here and pretend there aren’t other people out there who hate me just as much, but they’re going to hate me regardless.”

Neville had barely considered the danger to himself; he was used to defending himself physically and while he didn’t enjoy doing so, was fairly confident in his own abilities, so long as he wasn’t badly outnumbered. He’d never seen Draco fight, though he supposed that didn’t necessarily mean that he couldn’t take care of himself. Still, the idea of him wandering the streets alone when there were people who definitely wished him harm - he hadn’t forgotten the barn, if Draco had - made him feel physically ill. “I don’t know,” he said again, helplessly, one tentative hand going to Draco’s side. “Maybe I’m not thinking straight, I just… if you’d been alone…” 

“If I’d been alone, Blaise and Pansy still would have taken great pleasure in insulting just me in such a public setting, instead of splitting it between the two of us,” Draco stated. He leaned in, resting his forehead against Neville’s gently. “I’m okay,” he promised quietly. 

Neville swallowed. “I hated hearing them talk to you like that,” he said shakily. “If there weren’t so many people around that guy would be picking his teeth up off the floor.” He didn’t mean it; at least he thought he didn’t. At the moment it was hard to be sure. 

Draco felt the blush creep over his ears and his cheekbones, touched beyond measure at the thought of Neville defending his honor, no matter how non-existent it actually was. “I appreciate the thought,” he managed. 

“I _would_ have arrested him, if it wouldn’t have invited a whole heap more questions,” Neville sighed, comforted by Draco’s closeness and the soothing hand in his hair. “Who does that? With all those people listening?” he shook his head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you think… I don’t want to lose this. You. I don’t.” 

Shaking his head slightly, because Neville certainly didn’t need to explain that in any more depth - Draco could barely imagine the chaos that would ensue if he _had_ arrested Blaise - he sighed as well, admitting softly, “I don’t want to lose you either. I don’t… I can’t picture what my life looks like without you in it.”

“Okay,” Neville said, flushing a little. After a moment’s hesitation he drew Draco into a proper hug, holding him close. “Okay. We’ll just… be more careful. And if it all ends up in the paper tomorrow, well… I guess we just deal with it.” 

Draco wrapped himself around Neville tightly when the brunet pulled him in, taking a deep breath to steady himself that everything wasn’t falling apart right this second. “Okay,” he agreed, willing to do whatever was necessary. The idea of their relationship being in the paper was still terrifying, on a number of levels, but, if it came to that, “We’ll handle it. Together.”


	13. Tea and Secrets

Hermione put her head around the door, finding Draco sorting toys into boxes. “Hey,” she said, smiling innocently. “Time for a break? I’m off in half an hour or so - I was wondering if you wanted to have some tea or something? I think the back office is free.” 

Looking up from his sorting, Draco shrugged at the question. “Sure, tea sounds good,” he answered as he glanced at his watch. He stood up from where he’d been sitting on the floor, dusting his pants off absentmindedly. “How was your day?” he asked as they started down the hall. 

“Rushed,” Hermione said, reaching behind her head and adjusting the loose bun she had bundled her hair into. “I got everything done, of course, but they keep giving me more to do. I don’t mind, but I’m hardly a qualified accountant, which is what this place really needs.” 

“Then you should tell the board that,” Draco recommended. “They adore you, if you say that’s what we need, they’ll make it happen.”

The back office was a kind of multi-purpose room where non-essential paperwork was kept. There were a few kids drawings tacked up onto the walls, but it was well-ordered. Not really a surprise, given that Hermione worked in there at least once a week. An unbreakable tea set was on a counter near the window, and she set it to steeping with just a flick of her wand. “I thought we could chat for a bit,” she said, pulling up one of the chairs set against the wall. “Did you have fun at the museum?” 

That comment had Draco just a little bit suspicious, and he gave her a look as he took one of the mismatched chairs that sat in something resembling a circle off to one side. “I enjoyed myself, yes, thanks for asking,” he replied. “Another successful trip all around, it seemed like.”

She nodded, and flicked her wand again so that the teapot poured two cups. “Oh, I agree. Very successful. The children certainly seemed to have a good time - one or two meltdowns aside.” She tapped her fingers on the arm of the chair. “I was wondering,” she said, with the air of coming to the real topic she wanted to address at last. “Whether something had changed with you and Neville. Only I noticed the two of you hardly spoke to each other. I thought you would leave together, too, and you didn’t. Not that it’s any of my business,” she added, diplomatically. “But as the only other person who knows about you two, I thought maybe you’d like someone to talk to - who knows what it’s like dating an Auror, you know. Was it the incident last month? I thought he was given the all clear.” 

Draco tensed slightly, thrown off by the question, though somehow not entirely surprised that Hermione had managed to observe the difference in their interaction. He sighed as he took one of the cups of tea, stirring sugar into it almost absentmindedly, leaning back in his chair as he gathered his thoughts for a moment. “No, it wasn’t that,” he started, though really, he supposed that of anyone, Hermione would be the best qualified to discuss the emotional disaster that whole ordeal had turned into. But maybe later, seeing as she’d asked a specific question. “We’re just… being more careful,” he explained, cautiously. “A couple of days after that, we were going to go out and have lunch. And we had the unfortunate luck of running into Zabini and Parkinson at the restaurant. Blaise made some comments that were… a little too accurate for comfort, let’s say, in a crowded room of people.” He shrugged, and took a sip of his tea to give himself another moment. “It was… something of a wake-up call, so to speak. So we’re trying to be a little less obvious.”

“Oh, I see.” Hermione’s eyes had widened a little, but she held her tea perfectly steady, nodding. “That does sound harrowing. You certainly fooled me; I thought perhaps you had had a fight.” 

Shaking his head, Draco commented, “Neville almost got into one with Blaise, but no, we’re fine.” He smiled at her over the rim of his teacup. “Thanks for checking though. I appreciate it.”

“Well, I don’t know how I ended up in support of this relationship,” Hermione admitted. “But apparently I’m more invested than I thought.” She sipped her tea. “It’s nice to see you happy,” she said. “Both of you. You are happy, aren’t you?” 

Draco couldn’t help the slight chuckle that escaped him at that, although things would be a lot worse if Hermione had decided she wasn’t in favor of them. “Yeah, I am,” Draco confirmed with the small, bashful sort of grin that only Neville - or apparently, thoughts of Neville - brought out of him. “He makes me very happy. And I’d like to think the reverse is true as well.”

“Good,” she said. “He deserves a little happiness, frankly. I expect it can’t be easy though, hiding it. I understand why you are, don’t get me wrong, but… that has to be stressful, right?” 

Shrugging one shoulder up, Draco answered honestly, “Sometimes. Certain situations more than others. That day they all went missing was… rough, to say the least.”

“Yes, she said, seriously. “I’d say I was sorry for the way Ron acted, but it’s not as though he doesn’t have good reason for mistrusting you, you know.”

“I know. You don’t need to apologize for anything,” he agreed easily, because he was, in fact, aware of his past misdeeds, and the depth of how wrong he’d been on any number of things. 

“Both he and Harry are a bit protective when it comes to Neville, I think,” Hermione added. “I think because… well, they recommended him to the Aurors. I’m sure you know this, but Neville only became a fighter out of necessity. He’s not naturally drawn to it the way Harry and Ron are. He’s stuck with that job a lot longer than any of us thought he would.”

Draco nodded. “He doesn’t seem to particularly enjoy it,” he confided. “But I don’t think he considers that as a factor. He’ll just say that someone has to do it.” He shrugged again, this time a little helplessly, since he had no idea how to even begin to broach that topic with the man himself. Or even if he should try. 

“I suspect that the fact that his parents were both Aurors also plays a significant part in that,” Hermione pointed out. “You know about them, I suppose?”

“Yes,” Draco answered shortly - he hadn’t known about the Auror part, though he supposed it made sense. And it might explain the tenacity Neville showed about continuing his line of work. 

“Harry’s an Auror because he’s been fighting since he was eleven,” Hermione said. “Ron does it because he’s always been by Harry’s side, and frankly he needs an outlet for some of his feelings.” She smiled. “I don’t know Neville as well - Ginny and Luna know him better than the three of us, really. But I think he keeps doing it because he wants to help people, and he feels like he’s making a difference the way his parents would have wanted him to. He’s got a big heart, that’s what I worry about.”

“He does,” Draco agreed, having benefited more than he could ever say from the kindness of Neville’s heart and soul. “He’s lucky to have all of you,” he added, and for a moment, he acutely felt Vince’s death all over again, the guilty weight of it that he’d carry with him the rest of his life. 

“I’m not sure what my point is,” Hermione admitted, settling back in her chair. “Except that… well, he never really had close friends in school, especially not male friends. He must… care about you a great deal, to risk the fallout with Ron and Harry. Not to mention his Grandmother, who I’m sure would not approve.”

Draco shut his eyes briefly, Hermione's words reinforcing quite a few of the logical reasons he’d ever given himself for why Neville might leave, as if preparing for it in advance would somehow lessen the blow. It never really helped, probably because of how emotionally invested he already was, and he couldn’t fight the depth of his feelings. 

“I’m not… I just want to make him happy, in whatever capacity I can,” Draco said finally, unsure of what else he could possibly say to that. “And I don’t want to cause any strife with the rest of his life.”

“I’m pretty sure that ship’s already sailed,” Hermione said, not without sympathy. “Either you break up, which I know will hurt him, or people will find out, which will happen eventually if it goes on long enough. It’s not going to be easy, either way. I’m sure you realise that.” 

“I know,” he confirmed, having been over this at least a thousand times in his own head. “That’s why we’re being more careful.”

“It can’t last forever though, can it?” Hermione pointed out. “The hiding. And the longer you hide it, too, the bigger the blow up is going to be. That’s what I’ve been thinking. It seems to me that the best thing to do is to try to mitigate the damage before it happens. Namely, we need to get you on better terms with Harry and Ron, at minimum.” 

That statement drew Draco out of his repetitive, circular thoughts, and he looked at Hermione over the rim of his teacup. He wasn’t quite suspicious, per se, but the _‘we’_ she’d used had caught him off-guard, and while he wasn’t entirely opposed to the idea, for Neville’s sake, he also had no idea how he’d go about doing such a thing. 

“Do you have a suggestion for how exactly to make that happen?” he asked, with the distinct feeling that he’d just been strung along and played perfectly to this position, but for once, Draco couldn’t exactly complain about it. 

“I’m brainstorming,” Hermione said lightly, taking another delicate sip of her tea. “Harry’s probably the best place to start, to be honest. He did go out of his way to keep your parents out of prison, which I probably wouldn’t have done in his position,” she added, with brutal honesty. 

“Neither would I,” Draco admitted - he still had no earthly idea _why_ Potter had done such a thing, but asking would be akin to looking a gift horse in the mouth, so he hadn’t. Hermione’s brainstorming was more productive than most people’s fully developed plans, so Draco was already preparing to be amazed by whatever it was she came up with. 

“Really?” Hermione’s eyebrows went up a little at that. 

Potter would have made an excellent - or terrifying - Slytherin, in Draco’s opinion, but he knew better than to voice that thought. “Really,” he confirmed, almost absentmindedly. 

“Well, I’d suggest talking to him about it, but that all seems a bit volatile. Hmm. I suppose there’s not much else you have in common, other than, you know. Hating each other.” 

Draco wondered if a Quidditch conversation would go over as well with Potter as it had with his girlfriend, and decided to at least put a pin in it for further consideration later on. “You know, a few years ago, if someone had said things would work out like this, no one would have believed them,” Draco commented, more of an observation than anything else. 

Hermione huffed agreement. “You can say that again,” she said. “I certainly never imagined _we_ would be on speaking terms, let alone you and Neville… but then, we were all different people back then. Before the war. Nothing’s impossible.”

Snorting out a chuckle of amusement, Draco retorted, “I don’t know that anyone could have predicted me and Neville.”

“What about you and Neville?” came a voice from the door, startling Draco so badly he knocked over not only his cup of tea but the entire teapot as well. It took him a few moments to recognize it as Ginny Weasley, which did nothing for his amped up nerves. 

“Ginny!” Hermione scolded, waving her wand to clear up the spilled tea. Fortunately the carpet had caught the pot, and it didn’t seem to be damaged. “Why don’t you _knock?”_

“ _You’re_ jumpy,” Ginny said, eyeing Draco suspiciously before looking back over at her friend. “I just wanted to see if you wanted to come to the Burrow for dinner.”

“You _startled_ me,” Draco retorted automatically, trying to calm his suddenly racing heart. He met her gaze head-on, as if that would somehow prove that he wasn’t hiding anything. 

“Well, sit facing the door then.” She rolled her eyes, entirely unsympathetic. “What are you two talking about that’s got you so on edge, anyway?” 

“Nothing,” Draco answered immediately, and instantly realized it was a mistake with the way Ginny glared at him in disbelief. “Nothing important,” he tried amending, despite how huge of a lie that was. 

“We were talking about what happened to the boys last month,” Hermione said smoothly. “The ambush. Making sure Neville’s been doing okay.”

“Oh,” Ginny said, though she still eyed Draco suspiciously. “Well it’s basically a miracle he is, from what Harry said. Did you know they were dodging killing curses? _Dodging.”_ She shuddered. “Neville wasn’t even _armed._ And they still don’t know who those people were. I feel sick every time Harry goes out, now.”

Draco froze as he listened to Ginny, feeling his heart trying to crawl its way up his throat, because he certainly hadn’t known _that_. He and Neville had never actually had a discussion on the topic - Draco thought they probably should, but he hadn’t quite worked up the courage to bring it up yet - but his understanding of the entire scenario hadn’t included his boyfriend being unarmed while physically dodging killing curses. A vague, back part of his mind hoped Hermione was going to be able to say something in response, because Draco needed a few moments to process this new information. 

“Yes,” Hermione sighed. “It makes you wonder if it’s ever going to be over.” 

“Mum’s trying to convince Ron to help George in the shop instead,” Ginny rolled her eyes. “As if he would ever…” She stopped herself, apparently wondering if this conversation should be had in front of Draco. “Anyway. Dinner? The boys are coming, and maybe Bill and Fleur, too.” 

“Okay. You go on, just let me finish things up here.” 

Ginny looked between their faux-innocent expressions and shook her head. “You’re both being weird,” she muttered as she swept back out of the door. “I’m going to find out what’s going on!” 

Hermione gave Draco a look and waited until she heard the unmistakable sound of Ginny’s Apparition before saying “you know, you should talk to Neville about telling her. She is one of his best friends; she probably won’t make too much of a fuss, and she could be a big help easing the tension between you and Harry.” 

“You’re right, as usual,” Draco said with a small sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose with one hand. “This all seemed a lot less complicated a few months ago,” he commented with a humorless chuckle, knowing full well that was just because he hadn’t thought it all through back then. 

She laughed. “Well, yes, welcome to a relationship,” she said. “Things get complicated, and you two haven’t exactly picked the easiest option.” 

Draco wasn’t sure that there _was_ an ‘easiest option’ for the two of them, but kept that thought to himself. Hermione vanished the rest of the tea and put the set aside. “But look, if things get crazy you can always talk to me about it,” she added. 

“Thanks,” Draco said softly, pushing himself to standing and brushing himself off. “You’ll be the first to know when the status quo changes.”

Hermione left first, the _pop_ of her Apparition loud in the quiet of the small room. Draco stood there for a moment, debating with himself, and then reached for his wand with a small sigh at his own inability to make smart choices. A few seconds later and he was standing on the front stoop of Neville’s house, wavering for half a heartbeat before ringing the bell. 

Neville was half annoyed and half relieved to have visitors. He was up to his elbows in the kind of paperwork he had been blissfully ignorant of until his Gran had signed over his father’s estate into his name. What with work, and frankly the extra time he’d been spending with Draco over the last few months, he was painfully behind. He’d just been starting to make some real headway when the door gave him a tempting excuse to throw the towel in for the rest of the evening. 

Augusta was out having supper with his great-aunt, so he trudged yawning down the corridor in sweatpants and bare feet. When he opened the door to find his boyfriend standing there, he had to struggle with the odd sensation of being both pleased and suddenly concerned - Draco never came over uninvited. “Hi,” he said, standing back quickly so that Draco could get past him into the hall. “You okay? What’s going on?” 

Draco felt as though his breath had been knocked out of his chest briefly, from the sudden swelling of affection at just the sight of Neville. He stepped inside so the door could be closed behind him, and immediately started questioning himself again. Maybe he should have just left Neville in peace and waited until they were planning on seeing one another again. 

“I’m fine,” Draco said, wanting to dissuade any thoughts in that direction. “I wanted to see you,” he admitted quietly, because he’d been feeling that way even before the conversation, which had only added to that desire. “And then I had tea with Hermione, and we were talking about… us, and _then_ Ginny showed up, and…” he paused, realizing that he was rambling. Draco sighed, feeling a bit dumb, and offered, “It made a lot more sense, in my head. I missed you, and I probably shouldn’t have just shown up, I’m sorry.”

Neville was a bit confused, but frankly relieved that there didn’t seem to be an emergency. “Hey, don’t be silly,” he said, ushering him in and closing the door. “Come here.” He folded his arms around Draco’s waist and held him for a moment. Draco was a little shameless about tucking his face against the side of Neville’s neck for a moment, breathing in the reassuring scent of his skin. “It’s fine, Gran isn’t here - although I’m interested to know what you were going to say if she opened the door.” 

The words had Draco tensing all over again, Hermione’s comment about how the woman in question definitely wouldn’t approve of the two of them together ringing loudly in his head. “I… am not really sure,” he admitted. “I feel like I interrupted your evening.”

“You interrupted me trying to understand inheritance tax,” Neville told him lightly. He could tell something was wrong, but he didn’t think it was a good idea to tease it out in the hallway. “It’s fine, trust me. C’mon. You want some hot chocolate, or something? Cook took the night off, but I can probably manage that much.” 

Draco blinked, momentarily thrown off, because _that_ was something he was very familiar with. “The regulations make it unnecessarily complicated, but it’s easier if you do it by ascending depreciation values,” he commented, trying to be helpful. The offer brought a small smile to his face, and even though he was kind of reluctant to let Neville go, he nodded. “Hot chocolate sounds good.”

Neville rolled his eyes and turned to lead the way to the kitchen, where he was not usually allowed, but he strolled in with an air of defiant confidence. “I get it,” he said, looking around for the necessary components. “You understand all that boring legal crap. You know Gran won’t even let me hire someone to sort it out for me? She wants me to do it so I know exactly what it’s all about. I wouldn’t put it past her to quiz me to make sure I’m not cheating.” 

Shrugging slightly, because he’d been dealing with that sort of thing since he was sixteen, Draco just offered, “I’ll help, if you want. No hiring necessary.” He hung back just a bit from where Neville was gathering things, lurking out of the way but still close enough to be in his boyfriend’s orbit, his shoulders hunched in the way they got when he was trying to make himself smaller and unobtrusive. 

“You’re sweet, but you shouldn’t have to help me with my homework,” Neville chuckled. He managed to find the things he needed and started heating milk over the stove. He never used magic while handling hot or combustible items; five years of potions had been traumatising but educational in that respect. “I’m just moaning.” 

“I’d rather make you moan in another way,” Draco replied with a hint of a smirk, biting down on his lip to stop himself from going any further down that line of thinking. “But I am happy to help, if you want.”

Neville looked over at him, grinning bashfully. “I must be bored if I’m finding that funny,” he said, doing his best to ignore the shiver it sent up his spine, even though he suspected Draco was trying to distract him from the strange circumstances of his turning up on the doorstep. He carefully measured out hot chocolate into the pan and stirred it carefully, trying not to think how pathetic it would look if he messed up such a simple task. 

“It wasn’t very good,” Draco agreed with a small grin of his own, enamored with the expression on Neville’s face. The sentiment still held true - he rather doubted that was going to change, given that at this point in time, he was more attracted to Neville than he could ever remember being to anyone else. “Thank you,” he murmured, because now that he was standing here, he was suddenly acutely aware of all the other ways this whole scenario could have gone, the things he should have thought of before just showing up on Neville’s doorstep. 

“What for?” Neville asked, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye, still stirring. “Don’t thank me for this yet, I really can’t promise it’ll be any good.” 

Draco opened his mouth to respond, and then closed it again after a moment, unable to find a socially acceptable way to say, _‘no, thanks for not turning me away when I turned up on your doorstep in the midst of yet another emotional panic attack that I haven’t actually explained.’_ “For being you,” he settled for, knowing that it sounded like a terribly cliche line and unable to find anything better off the top of his head. 

_Okay_ , Neville thought to himself, keeping his attention on the milk. _Something definitely happened._ “Well, you’re welcome,” he said, and offered him a smile. Judging that the pot was hot enough, he poured it carefully into two mugs and, after a moment’s hesitation, sprinkled a tiny amount of cinnamon into each. “Here.” He handed a mug across, and cupped the other in his hands, leaning against the counter and taking the opportunity to study Draco’s face without being obvious. 

Reaching out to take the offered mug, Draco curled both hands around the ceramic, soaking in the warmth and enjoying the smell coming up off the top with the steam. He could still feel his shoulders hunched up slightly, his entire posture thrown off by that one little difference. Sooner or later (probably sooner rather than later), he knew, he was going to have to explain the conversation that had led to his sudden appearance. “Thanks,” Draco murmured once again, feeling inane about repeating himself. 

“So?” Neville waited a moment before nudging him gently with his elbow. “Want to tell me what’s really going on?” He was already going through potential scenarios in his mind. Draco had mentioned Hermione and Ginny, but he found it hard to believe that either of them would do or say anything that would shake him up so much. Maybe it was something else entirely, but he was clearly bothered by _something_. 

‘ _No_ ’ wasn’t really an acceptable response to that question, even if Draco still wasn’t sure how to get everything into words in a way that would make sense. He sighed very lightly, figuring maybe he should just start with the beginning. 

“Hermione noticed that we were acting differently at the museum, and she asked if we’d had a fight,” Draco started, because that, at least, was easy enough. “So I told her about the restaurant and Blaise and being more careful.”

“Okay,” Neville said, frowning. “Kind of nosy, but that’s Hermione for you. Or was it just bringing that up again? Because I didn’t think it bothered you that much. I was the one hyperventilating. If anything it was kind of weird how calm you were about it.” 

Shaking his head just slightly, Draco inhaled deeply and then continued. “From there it spiraled in a discussion about the relative stressfulness of hiding… this, and how many people won’t approve, and the risk you’re taking by being with me,” he tried, feeling as though he wasn’t making much sense but unable to stop himself now that he’d started word-vomiting. “She suggested trying to… _‘mitigate the damage before it happens’,_ by getting me on better terms with your friends, and that I should talk to you about telling Ginny about us as a starting point, and I just…” 

Draco sighed lightly, closing his eyes briefly before concluding softly, “I just want to make you happy.”

“Wow, okay.” Neville made a face, annoyed, but not at Draco. “She’s nosier than I thought.” He looked across at Draco’s miserable face and sighed. “You do make me happy. Please don’t feel like you have to do more than you already are.” 

It was a little hard to just accept that, in the wake of all the things he was worried about all over again, but Draco wasn’t going to question it right now. “Okay,” he agreed, and then added, “Sorry. For dumping all of that on you.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Neville said, gently. “I’m no expert on relationships, but I’m pretty sure this is the sort of thing we’re meant to talk about.” He put his mug down and turned to him. “Stop worrying about making me happy and think about yourself occasionally, will you? If you want to try to get along with my friends, that’s up to you, but I’m not expecting it. I can’t be happy if you’re miserable, can I?” 

Neville’s logic made sense, though Draco wasn’t quite in the right state of mind to fully appreciate the logical piece at the moment. Shrugging slightly, he mimicked Neville’s stance, setting down the mug in his hands and turning more fully in his boyfriend’s direction, though he refrained from reaching out and clinging to him the way he rather wanted to. 

“I’m just never sure if I’m doing this right,” he admittedly softly, still not quite able to bring himself to look Neville fully in the face. “And I am worried about it blowing up in our faces. Metaphorically.”

“Me too, sometimes,” Neville admitted. “But we can’t think about that all the time, or what’s the point?” He shrugged. “Maybe there is no ‘right’ way. I don’t know. The ‘right’ way would probably be to find nice pureblood girls to settle down with and have a bunch of kids.” He grinned. “So fuck it.” 

Draco couldn’t quite help the way his face scrunched up with distaste at the concept of that stereotype and the type of lifestyle that would go with it. That was something he’d never wanted for himself, so the reminder that at least he wasn’t going down that path was rather helpful. Neville’s statement startled a laugh out of him, and Draco shook his head slightly even as he started to grin in return. “I will never get over hearing you say _fuck_ ,” he commented, finally looking up to meet Neville’s gaze. 

“Well, you’re a terrible influence,” Neville replied, pleased to finally see a smile on Draco’s face. He reached for his hand. “In a number of ways.” 

“I have yet to hear you complain though,” Draco retorted, tangling his fingers with Neville’s automatically. 

“I wasn’t,” Neville said, low. He stepped in and kissed him softly, the silence of the big empty house echoing around them. “Feel better?” he murmured. 

As always, Draco got an amazed sort of thrill out of being kissed by Neville, and it was impossible to resist kissing him back just as gently. “Yeah,” he answered just as quietly. “Thank you.”

“You want to stay?” Neville asked. “We could get takeaway, if you’re hungry.” 

Nodding immediately in response to the question - Draco couldn’t imagine ever turning down that offer - he replied, “That sounds great.”


End file.
